Asunder
by LaurieQ
Summary: Frank is in a Grade A funk after the events of Recollection and Regret and needs a bit of space to figure out what's next. Joe can live with that, if he has to, until it leads to some old "friends" from across the sea. Going away from home is always so much easier than getting back...
1. Chapter 1

Author's note:

This story is a sequel to Recollection and Regret, and less directly a sequel to Charades, although it is set several years later. Frank and Joe are working for their father as part of a now officially family detective agency. Reading the previous stories will certainly be helpful in terms of figuring out the OC's involved, but brief explanations will be offered here, so you can likely read this one alone if you like. All of my stories are written in the same time line except Tread Softly, which was a story contest one shot. This story isn't fully written yet, and as many of you know, I had a serious health issue last year and am just getting back into the swing of writing. Posting schedule is likely to be irregular but will likely average once a week. Reviews keep me writing as I am very appreciative of you taking the time to comment. Without further ado...

Chapter 1

"Frank?" Joe sat down on the concrete steps beside his brother, quietly offering an oversized mug. He suppressed a sigh when his sibling continued to stare at his feet, ignoring the drink.

The nearly silent daybreak stretched on, a few birds beginning a soft chatter as the pewter sky lightened to a rose infused periwinkle. Fallen leaves swirled in soggy circles in the breeze, suggesting the prior day's waterworks would return, but for now the damp chill of the late autumn morning confined itself to a low lying fog. Rain out over the bay, no doubt.

Dawn resolved into pale silver with a residual smudge of salmon before the older brother moved. Even then it was simply to collect the now tepid coffee, mechanically taking a sip. Eventually the empty mug was discarded, ceramic clinking slightly against the cement.

Joe extended long legs out in front of him, stiff on the uncomfortable stairway. "More coffee?"

There was a noticeable lag before he got an answer. "Huh? …Oh, no thanks."

Doves settled into the maple across the narrow lawn and the morning fog cleared a bit, the ethereally hovering tree once again earthbound as the lowest segment of the trunk became visible. Vague noise from the front half of the apartment building suggested the pair was no longer alone in the world, but no one was likely to come their way. The rear doors led only to the strip of grass and a few weather-beaten picnic tables, both abandoned with the last of Indian summer a few weeks ago. Well, and to a phenomenally appealing set of concrete steps, of course. Steps so nice you could spend the whole night sitting on them for no apparent reason… just ask Frank.

A grey and white mound of fur emerged from below the steps, blinking at the intruders in her domain before bounding up onto the picnic tables to absorb what meager light the day provided. The cat's baleful stare eventually subsided into mere tail twitches interspersed with more peaceful napping. Apparently she'd decided the young men on the stoop weren't a direct threat, but no self-respecting stray feline would fail to acknowledge their presence without a degree of disdain.

"You're going to be late."

Joe startled slightly, having resigned himself to silence. "Late for what?"

Frank made a half dismissive gesture with one hand. "For whatever you planned on doing today."

That earned the older sibling a snort. "Whatever I planned on doing?... You know, Frank, I thought I'd spend my day sitting on this step."

"I'm supposed to believe that?"

Joe nodded. "Sure, why not. Damp, chilly, November day, I woke up at five thirty AM, said to myself there has to be a nice, hard, cold bit of concrete somewhere in Bayport I can sit on until my behind's numb and the rest of me turns blue… and half an hour later, here I was in my own little corner of heaven. Been awesome ever since."

"And the only concrete in the entire town where you could achieve this utopia just happened to be at my apartment?" Frank picked the coffee mug back up, peering in the bottom.

"Yep, exactly." Joe shifted again, trying to get a better look at his brother without being too obvious about it. The brunette hair had more waves than usual, complements of the wet weather, and the dark coffee-toned eyes had the glazed appearance of a man who hadn't slept in days. Weeks possibly. Deep blue-grey smudges beneath them seemed to confirm that. Stubble was starting to be an inaccurate term for the dark hair gracing his jawline. It didn't quite qualify as a beard, but it certainly wasn't regulation Frank. "The thing is, we're not at your apartment."

"Huh?"

"Do you know that's the second time this morning I've gotten huh as an answer?" Joe swiveled around, no longer trying to pretend he wasn't assessing his sibling.

Frank plunked the cup back down with rather more force than he'd intended. "It's too early for games. If you have a point, Joe, make it."

"Your apartment is either up five flights or one very cranky elevator ride away, not out here in the cold. I can assure you that if you were in it sleeping, I wouldn't have such a new found affection for these stairs."

"What I do at night really isn't any of your" Frank abruptly cut himself off, the harsh tone to the words dissipating like the fog. He turned to face Joe before he spoke again, drawing in a long, slow breath. "How'd you know I wasn't?"

"Because even your neighbors worry about you, bro. Mrs. Schuler called me."

"Her dog again?"

Joe nodded. Frank's elderly neighbor and her equally elderly basset hound were somewhat of a neighborhood legend. If not for Frank's frequently nocturnal line of work and the dog's bladder issues, the building probably wouldn't need a nighttime doorman. "She saw you outside about two o'clock. When you were still there at five-thirty, she called me. Said she saw you out last night, too."

The muttered 'busybody' was halfhearted. "I can't sleep."

"Obviously." Joe stood, stretching. "I think Dad and I were wrong about a few days off."

Frank laughed, a dry half hysterical chuckle. "I could have told you that. In fact, I did tell you."

"Sorry." Joe rubbed his palms across his thighs, chilled through. "It's just that last assignment was beyond awful and you've been working twice as much as either of us since… um… since summer."

The chuckle was back, even less reminiscent of humor than before. "You can say it, you know. Since Callie left."

"Yeah."

The silence grew, more comfortable now but still avoidance of a long overdue discussion. "If some time off isn't the answer, what do you think is?"

The elder of the pair shrugged. "I don't know. More work or something different or… Maybe… no… I truly don't know. Extra time to think is only making everything worse, though, ok?"

"Ok, then. Tomorrow morning it's back to the office for you." Joe stretched, popping his spine in a lanky skyward reach before extending a hand. "Come on."

Frank sat another full minute before shrugging again and allowing his younger sibling to pull him to his feet. He was half inside the glass door to the lobby before Joe's answer fully registered. "Tomorrow? What's wrong with today?"

"Today?" Joe sounded genuinely surprised. "Well… One, it's Sunday. Two, it's your birthday and Mom is expecting us at the house."

"Huh?"

Joe stopped in his tracks. "That's three, Frank."

"Three?" Splayed fingers raked through brunette hair in a confused gesture. "Oh. Sorry, I guess I do need some sleep. Third strike for addle brain."

"You really forgot your birthday, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"I know Mom baked your cake already; she sent me out for those mini chocolate chips you like yesterday." Joe crossed the lobby and pushed the elevator button. "I don't see you getting out of a party."

"Great. Just great."

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"Uggh. I may actually die."

"No one told you to eat enough for both of us, Joe." Frank stretched and stifled a yawn.

"Mom was having a hard-enough time pretending you weren't half asleep at the table. Couldn't really expect her to ignore you not eating, too."

A small smile escaped the brunette. "So, your answer was to pile my plate with a giant slice of chocolate cake, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, enough fudge sauce to float a ship, and then keep sneaking bites of it?"

"Hey, two bites of that went to Nessa. Not like I was a total pig."

"Riiiigggght, Wilbur. You keep believing that." Frank leaned further back into the cushions of his grey sofa, inexplicably blending in.

"Wilbur? What?... Oh, Charlotte's Web." Joe leaned toward his brother, both elbows on his knees. "You going to be okay going back to work in the morning?"

Frank shrugged. "Dad still on the paperwork catch up kick?"

"Yep."

"Then I can't see it being any different from staying here, just less time for extraneous thinking."

"Not sure I'd call your thinking extraneous, exactly." Joe returned the shrug. "Maybe more redundantly repetitive in this case."

"That's the same thing. You can be redundant or repetitive, not both."

"Whatever." The blond sighed, absently tapping his steepled fingers against one another. "You're thinking about Callie all the time you aren't in the middle of anything that isn't essentially having your hair on fire, hence the redundancy, and you keep doing it over and over. That's repetitive."

"I'm not ready to really talk about Callie, ok? I wasn't there when she needed me, and she left. It's my fault as much as it's hers."

"No, Frank, it's not! I know how hurt she had to be when her parents died, but you didn't even know that it had happened. The timing was awful, but it's part of what you are. You can't always be available or in touch."

"Yeah, I'm something that can't be what she needed!" Frank's voice rose a little, but that paled compared to his brother.

"Something that you have always been! When was the last time you considered not being a detective or investigator?"

"I, um…" The brunette stopped, thinking. "I wanted to run the New York City Zoo once."

"When?!"

"I was four."

"Four. So basically never. And she knew that! Everyone who knows us knows that. But when it came down to it, she needed you to change. That's not fair."

"She knew it wasn't fair, Joe. That's why she's gone." The indignant spark was gone, replaced again with sorrowful resignation.

"Frank, I think…"

"Let it go, Joe." Frank stood, wandering to stare out the window at nothing. "If I'm going to be in the office tomorrow, I should get some sleep."

The younger Hardy waited for a full minute, dialing back the anger that threatened to fully erupt at his would-be sister-in-law before speaking again in a much calmer tone. "Yeah, you should. Will you?"

The brunette actually pondered that before he answered, somehow not noticing the subtle shake of his head. "I honestly don't know. I'll try."

To be continued:


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you so much to BMSH, ErinJordan, Max2013, Cherylann, and sm2003495 for the kind reviews to start out this story!

Two weeks later, Frank entered the familiar brown brick office building, pausing in the small foyer to collect his nerve. For years, he'd planned on finishing up school and coming to work here every day, but now that wasn't quite what he wanted. No, that wasn't true. It was what he wanted, desperately, but it wasn't what he needed. At least not for a while…

He scrubbed his hand over his face, banishing the lack of sleep, and squared his shoulders slightly before knocking on his father's closed door. "Dad? Can I talk to you for minute?"

"Hmm? Oh, Frank. Hi." A rustling sound of papers came through the door. "Give me a few minutes and I'll meet you in your office, okay?"

Frank nodded and wandered away, not considering the closed door between him and his parent blocking the view. He surveyed his desk, tucking the one wayward pen into the top right drawer. Even with his tendency toward neatness, the complete lack of anything at all on the maple surface was unusual. Certainly, it was a marked difference from the amorphous mound that may or may not have contained his younger brother's desk. The desk had been there originally, of course, but Frank couldn't recall the last time he'd actually seen it. A year ago? More?

He was still contemplating that when he felt his father's stare. Frank looked up, accepting the offered cup of coffee silently.

Fenton decided to wait, recognizing whatever Frank wanted to say wasn't casual. The detective looked very much like an older version of his son, down to the brunette waves and the fingers that swept through them absently, but Frank was fidgeting and clearly hadn't slept, in weeks if he was honest. Fidgeting was a normal part of the Hardy world – if you were assessing Joe. For his older son, it was extremely uncommon.

"Dad, I need…"

"I'm here you lucky people…"

Frank had finally decided to speak when his brother's good morning bellow rang through the space, halting his attempt. He drew a deep breath; secretly glad he wouldn't have to do this twice.

"Um, so what's going on?" The blond paused inside the entry to the sibling's shared office space, instantly sensing his presence was an interruption of something important.

"I think Frank was just about to tell us." Fenton went to one of the navy tweed chairs in the end of the room, gesturing at his sons to sit down. Joe complied immediately, tossing a bag of donuts on the top of his messy desk on the way by.

Frank took a bit longer, pondering the chair like a forest log that ought to poked with a stick to check for snakes before deciding it was safe to sit down. "How did you decide to join the military when you finished school, Dad?"

Fenton quickly swallowed the coffee he was sipping, stifling a sudden urge to choke. "Are you, ah, thinking about doing that?"

The brown head shook. "No. But could you answer the question, please?"

Fenton infinitesimally unkinked his spine. "I wanted to get away from home, I wanted to do something important … and I wanted the challenge, I suppose. And to be blunt, my father and I didn't get along all that well. He was opposed to any sort of police work for me, even though that's what he did. I knew that if I spent a few years in the military I could earn enough money with the GI Bill to pay for the Academy or whatever else I might decide I wanted to do."

Frank nodded. "But when you left the military it was eight years later. And you didn't go straight to the policy academy."

"No, once I got there, I found I liked it more that I expected. I also met Joseph, and that started a pathway into more clandestine operations." Fenton paused, glossing over exactly what those operations had entailed. His sons knew as much about that as anyone who hadn't been there ever could, and had more past exposure to similar circumstances than he cared to admit. "And naturally meeting Joseph led to meeting Laura." A small smile tugged at his lips.

"I went to work with colleagues from the military when we got out as a continuation of intelligence work, and I might have stuck with that, but Laura wanted me home more. I also had some qualms about how we accomplished some of that work. I decided to go back to where I started and enrolled in the police academy. You know the rest."

Joe shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with where this conversation seemed to be going. He loved his Uncle Joseph, but usually his name coming up led to trouble. "What are you thinking about, brother of mine?"

Frank sighed, standing up. "Actually, I'm done thinking. I called Uncle Joseph yesterday. I need to take a prolonged leave of absence, or I'll quit if you prefer. I'm going to work for him."

Joe sprang up, fighting an irresistible urge to do… something. He had crossed the space to his brother before he realized it. "Frank! You can't just…"

Fenton rose as well, carefully placing himself between his sons and raising his hands for silence. "Are you certain, son?"

"I am. I'm sorry." Frank stood there, eyes flicking from his father to his younger and more volatile brother.

"Ok." The older Hardy nodded, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath that mirrored his son's. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. He clasped his child by the forearm, squeezing it tightly. "Ok, but don't quit. Take as long as you need."

"Thanks, Dad." He relaxed only slightly, warily glancing at Joe.

"Dad, can we have a minute?" The blond seemed tense, but no longer on the verge of combustion.

Fenton gazed carefully at both of his children before shrugging. "I could use some time to figure out how to break this to your mother, anyway. I'll be back before lunch."

Joe waited until his father left the office to speak again. "Sorry."

"For what? Even I'll admit it's a bit drastic. I need to be away from the life I thought I was building. It's like having a sweater on that's too tight. Everyday it tightens a little more and now I flat out can't breathe. I just need to... to.. GO. "

"I know that." Joe flopped into one of the chairs again, seemingly boneless. "I know you need to get away from here for a while, although admittedly I had thought you might go finish your PhD, or take a three-month sailing trip around the Caribbean, or… I don't know. Part of that life was Dad and I and work, too. You sure this is what you want?"

Frank perched on the edge of the facing seat, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I'm sure. You know you have to start a PhD before you can finish one, right? As much as I'd like to sail around for a while, or study criminal computer skills some more, I need something that is going to consume every second of my thought process."

"There are easier ways to do that."

"And I've tried them." Frank's hand snuck up through his hair again. "You weren't wrong the other day when you said I've been working twice as much as you or Dad – and both of you work more than three normal people. So far all I am is tired."

Joe snorted. "Five months with no sleep will tend to do that to you."

"Yeah." Frank stood up again, starting to pace. "Anyway, Joseph has offered both us the chance to come work for him several times, and it's about time I took him up on it."

"I could…"

"No, Joe. I need to go on my own, ok? Besides, Dad's getting used to having some extra help around here."

"There's always Sam."

Frank shrugged ever so slightly, more a motion of his eyebrow than his shoulder. "There is. Are you telling me you deep-down-in-your-bones want to do this?"

The younger Hardy started to speak, paused, and started again. "No. Are you sure you have to?"

"Yes."

Joe shifted in his chair, intently studying the wood grain beneath his feet. Long minutes passed before he raised suddenly intense sapphire eyes. "Then ok. But come back, Frank."

"Of course I'll come back, Joe, you know that. I'll come back and work here, I just need to clear my head."

"People take a walk to clear their head, bro." Joe stood up, continuing to stare at his sibling. "You're likely to get someone else clearing yours with a glock."

"I'd promise that's not going to happen, but I don't think you'd believe me. I do promise I'll come home. Give me a year."

Joe clamped down on a million errant thoughts and schooled his features into a passable imitation of encouragement. "I'll hold you to it."

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"Hey! Get your tail over here."

Callused fingers rapidly finished braiding the hair at the nape of his neck, clubbing it back out of his way before he shoved a 9mm into the back waistband of olive drab pants. "Whatever, Sanchez. What do you want anyhow?"

Sanchez looked at the muscular bare-chested man looming behind him before stabbing at the newspaper laying on his cot with a grimy finger. "Thought news from home might take your mind off this heat."

"Hmphff. Doubt anything can do that." Still, he grabbed a threadbare tank and pulled it over his head while he ambled over to other soul in the canvas tent. Seemed like the whole world was vaguely steaming in this endless rain. "What news?"

"There. Isn't that the kid you're always checking up on?"

He stared at the picture for long minutes, scratching his fingers through a thick brown beard. "Yeah. Pretty sure that's him."

It was a society page post from the New York Times, noting the engagement of an attractive pair of young people. Sometimes their boss threw the two New Yorkers a bone and sent a newspaper. Unfortunately, it was also four months out of date.

Sanchez looked at the other man for second, then grunted. "You wanna cap him or something? He's better lookin' than you, must have better luck with the ladies."

The man smiled, the simple act transforming his gaunt face. "Something. And he always has, Sanchez, always has."

"How long since you've been home, anyway?"

"I talked to my folks before we started this run, so about the same time as your newspaper, I guess. Looking forward to being able to get back in touch."

"Nun-uh, idiot. In person, face to face, sittin' at your mom's table havin' some pie, at home?"

The other man deflated a little. "Too long. Two years, more or less."

"You do get breaks like the rest of us snowflakes, right? So, go home!"

"Yeah, yeah. I do get break time. There's just never a great time when everything's cleared up. Not like I see you running home to Mommy."

Sanchez let out a booming laugh. "Least you got one. You looking to clear up the international drug trade, human trafficking, information for sale, or are you waiting on the trifecta of all three at once?"

"And wouldn't that ruin everything for us? I can't even get in touch with anybody until after we finish this run for Marcus, so there's not much point talking about it."

"Hmm, well I guess I could try to hurry up my sales pitch this time. You ready to move in the morning?"

He surveyed the minimal amount of gear he'd have to toss in his duffle. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He snatched the newspaper and returned to his cot, determined to some how get some sleep among the oppressive hundred-degree humidity. Tomorrow morning, he and Sanchez had some business to conclude, then hopefully he could think about getting home, even if it was just for a few days. He laid down, one hand trailing to the ground and encountering a soft rounded curve. He grinned looking down at the form bunked in the mud beside his bed.

She was still awake, ebony eyes glaring at him above the strip of tape over her mouth. She wore a filthy black sports bra and shorts, and a length of rope circled her waist and encased both wrists. She'd long since stopped trying to free her hands to reach the tape or tug the rope loose from the frame of the cot. Midnight black hair that might once have been in a French braid now snuck down in a hundred tendrils, snarling across the deep almond tone of her face.

"Go to sleep, girl. We're going to meet your new owner soon enough."

Sanchez laughed. "Why are you still trying to talk to the merchandise? Tramp probably doesn't speak a word of that Spanglish crap you spew, anyway. Bad enough you actually enforce the no sleeping with 'em policy."

"Hey, it's Marcus's rule, take it up with him. And my Spanish isn't that bad." He curled up on his side, one hand on the waist of the bound young woman below his bed, rough fingers curling around the rope, and the other wrapped around his handgun as he settled in to sleep. Neither one entered his dreams, though. That privilege fell to the newspaper article folded below his pillow. _Mr. and Mrs. Fenton Isaac Hardy proudly announce the engagement of Miss Vanessa Kay Bender and their son, Mr. Joseph Benjamin Hardy…_

 _Even if it is four months coming; good for you, little brother, good for you. You deserve it._

 _To be continued:_


	3. Chapter 3

Asunder 3

Author's Note: In theory, this is half a chapter. Also in theory, the snow storm didn't knock out my power for the last 3 days and I could finish editing the rest. Anyway, we're going with the take what we can get option. The rest was supposed to have a bit of a kick to it, but it will still be coming along.

Many thanks to Cherylann, julzdagger88, Caranath, max2013, sm2003495, BMSH, and ErinJordan for the wonderful reviews.

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 _Come on, faster. Just a little. Crud, why did I get the long way around? Again. This is so not fair… Faster Hardy… You know I could stick my brother with this if he was around… No, actually, I'd be stuck with this route anyway… Ugh, think I'm finally too short of breath to even think out loud in my head… Wait, if it's in your head, does that make it out loud?... Really? Great, you crazy freakin' ding bat… Just great…_

Joe dashed the final five yards, gasping for breath, and dived off the dock even as he shed his coat, catching the thug he'd been chasing for the last six blocks around the shoulders just he sunk below the ice-cold water. _Nothing like underwater wrestling tournaments with Mensa-caliber polar bears…_

"Joe!"

The younger Hardy appeared above the surface of the water briefly, only to plunge below the brine again. Determined to end the struggle before his breathlessness did, he loosened his hold with one hand and forced his quarry above the water with the other.

One giant slug and it was over, Joe weakly paddling toward the dock and dragging the unconscious goon with him.

"Joe!? You alright?" His father reached over the edge of the wood stretched out on his stomach, scrambling for his son.

"Yeah…uh… peachy." He hefted the other man upward. "Going up."

Fenton hauled the other man over the edge and handcuffed him before returning his gaze to his gasping child.

"Sure you're ok?"

Joe was sprawled on his back on the dock, breathing rapidly like it was going out of style. He lifted a single index finger upward, not having enough air for anything else.

Great wheezing gulps eventually succeeded in returning speech to the younger Hardy. "Why?"

"Joe? What do you?"

He truncated his father's question. "Why do they always dive… in the harbor… in the winter?" He panted a little more. "He was going to swim… to France?... Pitstop in Iceland?" Huff. "Don't the criminal masterminds ever… bother to tell their minions… we have extradition treaties?"

Fenton chuckled. "I take it you really are ok." He stood, offering Joe an arm. "Nice catch."

The blond tugged his way upright, grimacing at the dripping water. "Thanks. See how nice you think it is after you get to drive me home on your nice leather seats."

Fenton ran his fingers through his hair, frowning. "I can go back for your car."

Joe shook his head. "My keys are at the bottom of the bay."

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Joe stretched amid the random stacks of papers that had infiltrated the couch, wondering when they'd come to be there. He glanced at the clock on the table. Three twenty-four. That explained why he felt like it was the middle of the night - it was.

The detective sat up, scrubbing at his face while trying to remember what he had read before he drifted off. He shuffled through the documents, finding the interview transcripts he was reviewing under several inches of assorted claptrap. He sighed, realizing there was a sizeable portion that he couldn't recall. The answer was in here… somewhere.

He began sorting and stacking, placing the interviews with witnesses in one mound, the interviews with the two thugs that they'd managed to capture in another, clues in a third. On the surface, it was simple. Three local bank robberies, two solved and in custody, one still pending. Find who broke into the Wells Fargo branch on High Street in Southport and it was done.

Except that it wasn't.

The suspect he'd caught diving into the bay yesterday gave the same basic story as the other one. He didn't want to steal any money. He'd had to. Otherwise the 'resistance' to the Constraint wouldn't be funded. Without the resistance, everyone would soon fall to the global force that was coming.

Not that Joe, or anyone with half an ounce of sense, believed that. The trouble was that the thieves did. Somehow, someone was brainwashing these goons, and doing it well enough that they were terrified of failing. The one from yesterday had literally sobbed for an hour when he found that the money had been recovered.

There really wasn't a particularly good plan for the robberies either. Only cash had been taken in all three cases, and it had been located in a storage shack on the property of the first thief and in a bus terminal locker for the third. The second case was still open, so that was a mystery for now, but Joe didn't expect it to be any more remarkable. It wasn't even why Hardys were involved.

New York City and Boston had been plagued with bank robberies by perpetrators without significant past thefts as well, and all thought they were funding some sort of resistance. Although several of the thieves had ended up in mental health care rather than jail, there wasn't any evidence they had been ill before. Somewhere, there was a pattern. And what was this Constraint nonsense anyway? It sounded like a video game plot for twelve-year olds, except two customers in one of the Boston break ins had died.

Wait, it did sound like a video game… ok, not a good one… but still… Joe shoved the papers aside and grabbed his laptop, typing the now familiar name of the diver. Not into the crime databases, which were clean, but to a local gaming site.

It was the sound of doves cooing that interrupted him, signaling the arrival of an early December dawn. Reluctantly he unearthed himself from two laptops and a myriad of documents, wandering to the window. He stared down at the frosty concrete stairs, wondering if Frank was cold. Wondering if he should have moved in here rather than letting his brother's lease run out. Wondering if his brother would be there when he married Vanessa this summer. He'd talked to him since he left, of course, even saw him for a few days, but in the last six months there wasn't a peep. _Two years…_

There was no point following that train from the station again. None at all.

He closed his eyes for few moments, reconciling the ache inside with the exuberant exterior everyone had always expected, then glanced at his watch. It was almost eight, more than late enough to call Chet. He could phone everyone else later. Growing up on a farm apparently ruined your internal chronometer permanently, even on a Saturday.

"Hey, Morton. I need a favor." As expected, his friend was wide awake.

"No, nothing like that. Can you make some time to play a video game for me this weekend?"

"Yeah, unfortunately I did mean for me, not with me."

"Recruit Hooper and Prito if you can.""

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Sweltering would have been an understatement. Frank sat on the edge of a massive rotten log, wishing he had enough water to pour it over his head. _Waste not, want not…_ The few swallows he'd had didn't come close to replacing the amount drenched into his clothes.

He gazed out at the jungle, barely able to see the path they were following. Leaves longer than his six feet one-inch frame arched over his head, the deep green lattice shading out much of the sun, while the black soil below vibrated with the migration of an army of insects and tiny lizards scuttling beneath smaller growth. Droplets of moisture clung to everything, dripping incessantly, while a cacophony of birds and moneys chattered above. An olive drab snake was coiled several feet away, waiting for the amble of an unsuspecting rat, and a dull hum percolated up through the log, the beetles chewing their way into the makeshift seat. Funny, everyone notes the chaotic verdant sights and sounds of the understory, but it's really the smell. The indescribable combination of new life forcing its way through the thick layer of damp decay.

He shifted, listening for anything that didn't seem part of the surrounding tableau. Nothing. "He's not back yet."

"No. How long, you think?" Karena rubbed her wrists, working at the rope imprint.

Frank shook his head. "Five minutes. Maybe more? I'd finish whatever you want to drink now."

"I want the whole bloody canteen, Hardy. Real cute last night."

"I didn't know Sanchez would stay. No choice. Now do you want any more or not?"

She grabbed the canteen from him, guzzling down the residual water. "I don't, now."

"Fine." Frank stood up, exasperated, and pulled the rope loops over her wrists, securing her hands to each side of her waist. "Too tight?"

"I'm good, lets get this over with."

He nodded, rolling out enough tape to recover her mouth. "I hear Sanchez."

She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow and suddenly crumbled. The defiant intelligence officer was gone, replaced by a terrified girl cowering at his feet. When Sanchez met them, she looked up, silently pleading with a tear-streaked face.

"Look at her bawling, Hardy! Deuring's gonna love this one."

"Seems like a lot of trouble, if you ask me. Why don't you just pay him in cash?"

"He wants to have a little fun, wants to know everyone has a little skin in the game." Sanchez gave a suggestive leer. "And it was fun catching the ladies, at least until you showed up."

"Hmm. Marcus makes the rules, my friend. And he says no "fun" with Deuring's girls."

"Well, what he didn't know didn't hurt 'im, did it? You are way too up tight."

"Not up tight, just don't need extra trouble. Come on, we'll be late." Frank started to pick his way through the narrow path through the vegetation, propelling Karena ahead of him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I hiked it faster last week, but then I wasn't trailing along with a goody two shoes who's afraid of his shadow."

Frank whirled and fired in one motion, the shot going about a foot over the other's pony tailed hair. "Shut up and try to keep up, Sanchez."

A much-subdued hiking partner followed.

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Two hours later they were ironing out the details of an unsavory deal, agreeing to swap Karena and the details of the next drug sting for a portion of the goods. Finally, the arguing was done, the beer exhausted, and everyone seemed content.

Deuring grinned. "We're done, gentlemen. Will you be staying until morning?"

"Not me. There's a poker game in the city in two nights, think I can make it if I get moving." Sanchez's fingers rubbed together signaling money.

Frank snorted. "Good riddance, friend. Go lose what money you've got, I'll see you in ten days."

"You are kidding, right? No ladies, and now you pass up poker in the few days we've got off? You're hopeless."

"I'd rather sleep. I'll meet up with everybody when there's work to do. For now, I'm going to take Mr. Duering up on his offer for a real bed."

"An offer I'm happy to make." Duering gestured to one of his cronies. "Show Mr. Hardy to his hut."

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Frank closed the thatched door behind him, breathing in deeply and blowing out each one as slowly as he could, settling the disgust and tension of the last several days. Finally feeling less nauseated than before, he activated the GPS in his shoes. That done, he stripped out of the short-sleeved shirt he'd worn and flipped open his pocket knife, ignoring the feeble two-inch blade for a miniature pair of scissors. Slowly he cut open each seam, extracting a series of electronic components.

Darkness grew more complete as he worked, but once the pieces were freed, the night pervading the hut didn't matter. He quickly assembled the sections by touch, creating a functional camera. He snuck out into the darkness, intent on two things. Planting his camera in Mr. Duering's abode, and retrieving his confiscated handgun.

To be continued:


	4. Chapter 4

Asunder 4

Author's Note: I know, I know… No excuses, but ah, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! And warm thanks to those who reviewed and read the last chapter; especially max2013, sm2003495, BMSH, Caranath, ErinJordan, julzdagger88, and Barb!

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"There has got to be a cure for terminal boredom! You owe me big, Hardy." Chet groaned dramatically, falling backward onto the couch. "Even having Hooper here couldn't add any fun to this game – and he ate his way through everything I own!"

"And I suppose you had a more exciting weekend planned? Had to darn your socks, or alphabetize all the cows' names on the farm, or reorganize the dust bunnies under your bed, I suppose? And now you'll starve to death, to boot." Joe Hardy grinned at his long-time friends. "Seriously, how bad can playing a video game be?"

"Darn my socks? Who are you and what have you done with Joe Hardy?" Chet raised an eyebrow at his friend.

Biff chimed in. "Pretty bad, Joe. I would like to go on record objecting to that eating claim, though. No way that I out-ate Morton."

Chet Morton maintained a much trimmer frame than he had in high school, although working at his parents' farm and managing his own landscaping service made for a fair amount of muscle. It would almost have been impressive, if not for comparison to Biff Hooper's sheer bulk. Someone forgot to tell the blond mountain that you weren't supposed gain another three inches and eighty pounds during college, particularly if you were six four to start with. Joe jokingly dubbed him Ox, after Paul Bunyan's blue bovine.

"We'll settle the food bill later. What was the problem with the game?"

Chet waggled his hand in an indifferent gesture. "At first, I thought it was just dull. There is a game called Constraint, like you thought, and there's a lot of tedious back story about how it's going to 'rule the world' and you have to find ways to 'resist the take-over of independence'. Once I figured out that I could choose between playing it as a shoot 'em up or trying to find strategies to the resistance business, it got a little more interesting."

Biff nodded. "Chet and I took different tactics at that point. I stuck with playing it as a typical gamer, shooting everybody that was trying to tell me what to do, exploding as many buildings as I could, taking…"

Joe interrupted with a grin. "So, you acted like yourself. Got it."

Chet laughed. "Yeah. I asked as many questions about how to resist as I could and got more gullible with every answer. Eventually I got a lot of suggestions about how to steal objects in the game that would provide money for the battles. When I stuck with the stupid routine, I got a few off-hand comments about things that could nabbed outside the game as well."

"Can you print the transcripts of exactly what the characters in the game said?"

"Already did." Chet handed over two piles of paper.

Joe sat on the end of the denim couch, starting to flip through the stacks. He set aside the copies of Biff's games fairly quickly but slowed through Chet's. Eventually he requested a highlighter pen and another laptop, then dove back into the heap.

"Think he still knows we're here?" Biff whispered his inquiry to Chet an hour later, not wanting to stop whatever his friend was doing.

"Doubt it. Let's go get some supplies – you seriously did eat everything here, and Candace will be back tomorrow."

Biff smiled at the thought of Chet's diminutive fiancée, four feet ten inches of fireball with the hair to prove it. "Yeah, don't want to get on her bad side. Let's go."

Two hours later, Joe glanced up from the documents and computer. "It's right here, and here…" He pointed at the highlighted phrases, then abruptly stopped, realizing he was talking to himself.

"Huh, wonder when they left?" He rapidly scribbled a note to Chet, texted Biff, then gathered his paraphernalia and left.

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"That was incredible!" Joe tipped the carved wooden chair backward, simultaneously pushing his plate away. The last four days had been painfully busy, and it was wonderful to close the case and take a break. The dinner invitation hadn't hurt anything, either.

"Yeah, perfect." Vanessa smiled across the table at Candace, who had been the chef of the evening. The two engaged couples spent a lot of time together. "How do you get the onions to caramelize like that without burning the scallops, anyway?"

Joe tapped Chet on the shoulder. "I think, on that note, we should leave."

Chet nodded. "Yeah, I'm just here to beautify the place; I don't do food prep. Oh, and unfortunately I do clean-up crew."

Joe picked up a stack of blue glazed plates and headed for Chet's tiny kitchen. "There is that."

"So, playing that stupid game is really how you caught the guy?" Chet paused in loading the dishwasher.

Joe nodded, scraping off a stack of plates into the trash. "Once I found the character comments that were real time, then back tracked them through a proxy server or two, then we had the group that was manipulating the robberies. They were more interested in finding players that could be bent to criminal activity than the money from the thefts. We picked up the thief from South Port this morning. Dad and I and the NYPD have a date with the computer masterminds as soon the evidence is all compiled with the FBI agents in Boston."

"Sure you didn't call Cohen, or your brother?" Chet laughed, dumping off the remnants of a half dozen chopped bell peppers, then put the cutting board in the sink.

"I can actually do computer investigation, you know." Joe suddenly seemed more subdued.

"Hey, I'm sorry." Chet realized what he'd said and knew it didn't have anything to do with computers. "Have you heard from Frank?"

A loud sigh filled the kitchen. "Not for six and a half months."

"Look, I'm sure he's okay." Chet halted mid thought. "You don't need the platitudes, do you?"

"No."

The rest of the dishes were finished in silence.

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"CRACK!" Frank ducked behind the wooden side of the shed, panting. That last shot had been far closer than he'd prefer. Heck, forget prefer, more like survive. He'd collected his gun and had been about to plant the camera when everything had proverbially gone to hell in a hand basket. Where was Karena anyway? This much deviation from the plan had to have her name on it.

"Bang! Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!" Two shooters, one with an automatic, coming from opposite sides of the open square between the huts. Frank headed for Duering's quarters, slinking along the earth.

Four quick rounds followed, not as close as the first had been, and then a whoosh and the beginning crackles of flames. _Great, fire, just what we need._

No longer needing to be as quiet, he slid behind the main cabin and risked calling out. "Karena?"

"Where in the Hades have you been?" The whispered tirade was harried, but thankfully alive.

Frank eased into the hut, rapidly assessing the contents, including one very dead Duering. He positioned his back opposite to Karena's before he answered. "You started without me."

"Yeah, well, so did he. Or at least he tried." The younger agent shook her head. "At least I like his gun. Think we may be doing this one the hard way."

Another shot came through the window right as the roof became fully enflamed. Frank and Karena both fired back in the direction of the shooter. "Ya think?"

Frank picked off a henchman before he could fire at them again before jerking Karena backward away from the falling embers. "How many do you think?"

"I've seen six, counting the one you just got and Duering, so four left." Karena fired at another man who was shooting while approaching their hideout. "Make that three."

Frank nodded. "Matches my count."

Several rounds came from the dark twenty yards away, splintering the wood at the ground while the gables started to cave in.

"We've got to go!" Frank shouted over the racket, hissing as a falling timber struck his shoulder, scorching his shirt. "Come on!"

Karena merely nodded, pointing toward the right and herself, then gesturing left at Frank.

Frank shook his head. "Together."

"Separate. They can't catch both of us."

"They could, but not if we move. Now!"

"Go LEFT!"

"This is asinine. Come on!" His voice had taken on a desperate urgency, the flames beginning to flicker at his arm .

Karena gestured again before shoving Frank to the left and sprinting out to the right, instantly melting into the shadows.

Frank made an entirely less appropriate gesture before circling out to the left. Additional shots followed, but seemed to be aimed at the collapsing structure. They hadn't been spotted.

Thirty silent steps later and he was out of the small encampment, sliding behind the rough bark of a tree. He held his breath, waiting for Karena. His eyes sought out any other shape in the shifting smoke and darkness, but nothing moved. Tracking to the right provided more adequate illumination from the now roaring blaze, but still nothing. Not the three gunmen remaining, not Karena, nothing. The crackling of the fire grew still louder as additional huts surrendered to the pull of the flames.

Suddenly an additional three shots rang out from behind one of the still-standing huts on the right in rapid succession, followed by a stifled feminine grunt.

"Come on out, Hardy!" A flashlight swept out into the darkness, revealing Karena firmly in the arms of the henchmen, his gun at her throat.

Frank took only a second to assess the situation. One of the other gunmen lay dead on the ground, the bullet in his forehead leaving little doubt. Blood trailed from Karena's knee, and both of her hands were wrapped around the forearm encasing her shoulders. Knowing he had no choice, Frank stepped out into the circle of light.

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"On three?" Joe didn't make a sound, but the words were clear.

Fenton nodded, allowing a tight smile to cross his face at his younger son. Three fingers went up, then began to descend one by one. As he dropped the third one, Joe busted in the door to the brownstone in front of him.

"Freeze!"

A ruckus followed, the sounds of a trio of men grabbing paperwork and slamming shut laptops as they scrambled to reach the backdoor. A door where "NYPD! Freeze!" awaited them a second later.

One of the three reversed course, somehow charging toward Joe in a futile attempt to escape.

Joe launched one punch at the man, abruptly halting that particular idea. Ten minutes later the Miranda rights had been read and the three had disappeared in the back of a pair of squad cars.

"You know, there may be something to be said for this working with the police and FBI thing." The younger of the pair of detectives laughed, shaking out his right hand before he resumed massaging the reddened knuckles.

Fenton chuckled. "Not like we haven't done it a hundred times, Joe. We just got an official invitation to the arrest this time."

"I think you may have had a bit to do with that. Suspect they'd all be happy to never see me again." Joe let his mind wander to the month before and a, um, borrowed, FBI specially outfitted surveillance boat. Technically, Joe was hired to retrieve it from whomever had stolen it and return it to DC. And he had. Not his fault it involved a detour through Baltimore and an explosion of half the harbor. Details.

His father's chuckle got louder. "I suspect the FBI will be back to trying to lure you away from me all too soon. For now, enjoy the peace and quiet."

"Not going to happen, Dad." Joe gave his father a more serious look.

Fenton accepted the unspoken reassurance that Joe, at least, wasn't going anywhere. After a moment he nodded, then manufactured a wide grin. "Quiet? You? It was too much to ask for…"

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"Let her go." Not too original but may as well start somewhere. Hopefully his Spanish held up.

"Or what, exactly, DEA man?" The gunman was streaked with soot and sweat, puffing a little with the strain of keeping Karena still.

Good question. "Most of you are dead. Hurting her digs you in deeper. Give yourself up."

"Or I can kill both of you and walk away."

"You'll be caught in the end. No need to add murdering a federal agent to the tally." Frank kept his gun level, waiting.

The man grimaced, his six-foot frame a shady shorter than Hardy's. "Wouldn't make much difference at this point. Besides, doubt anybody's keeping track of whores."

Frank instantly flinched at the crass word, then just quickly regained his composure. Better her captor didn't know he had a second agent. "I am."

"Knew you weren't okay with Sanchez and Duerring's deal. Makes me wonder which side of this drug deal you're really on."

"That's strictly financial. Different situation." Frank schooled his features into a mask of indifference. "Now let her go."

"No."

"Now."

"No."

The silence between the pair stretched out, interrupted by the snapping of the wood huts and the cloying choke of the smoke. Frank sought out Karena's eyes and was shaken by what he saw there. _Just do it…_

He clamped down on the tremor in his gut, face remaining serene. Took a minute to acknowledge the source of his fear. In his time as a detective and then an agent, he'd killed several people unavoidably in the midst of one case or another, but always when they engaged in attempting to murder him – or Joe. This was the first time he was considering firing at someone who wasn't. No, that wasn't quite it. He wasn't simply considering it… _God, I want to go home…_

He blinked his eyes slowly, ostensibly against the smoke, and started a silent count he hoped Karena could sense. Three… two...

BANG!

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To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Asunder 5

Author's note: I really appreciate the reviews on the last chapter, especially after I took a three week 'crud, I have to get all this done before I can leave the office for Christmas' break. Seriously, Suzanne might have killed me otherwise – yeah, she seems peaceable, but you can never really tell – and you have no idea how far I was behind on paperwork! My thanks to max2013, ErinJordan, Cherylann, BMSH, and sm2003495. Oh, and it looks like there's a name foul up in this chapter. There's not:)

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The reek of soot and ashes came to him first, rapidly losing their primary position to an intense throb spearing through his head. It was still dark. He was at least relatively confident about that. He kept his eyes closed, fighting the urge to look around, and listened.

A small crackling sound. A roiling whish of water. A soft inhale of air and the faint swoosh of someone shifting.

The sounds settled around him, peacefulness at odds with the brass band inside his skull.

He twitched his fingers against whatever he was laying on. Rough fabric over easily squished earth. Slightly damp. He tightened the muscles in each leg. No pain but he had no shoes. Hmm. He tried the left arm. Again, no pain, and unrestrained. The right one ached, but that was an old familiar friend.

Deciding he had gathered as much information as he could, he wove the pieces together. Probably still amongst the burned encampment, but near a cooking fire with a boiling pot. Someone had made him a bed of sorts out of a blanket over the earth. Since everyone else in the camp had seemed to want him dead, that left Karena as the only one who'd bother.

He opened his eyes and found the near ebony ones staring back at him.

"Thought you were dead." Her voice was flat, emotionless.

Frank struggled through a deep breath, aiming for the same tone. "Nah. Tried that once."

Karena raised an eyebrow, but slowly nodded. "You ok?"

"My head hurts." A simple answer seemed best.

"Yeah, well, getting shot will do that."

Frank's hand instantly moved toward his ear, only to be smacked down before reaching its destination.

"Took forever to get that to stop bleeding. Don't screw it up." Karena signed. "You could have counted faster, you know."

Frank closed his eyes again, remembering. After a few fruitless moments he gave up. "You lost me."

A loud grunt followed. "Almost, but I don't give up that easy. Too much paperwork on a dead partner anyway."

He let out an exasperated groan. "Not like that. I meant I don't remember that last few minutes before… before… before I ended up here. I stepped into the light, that goon had you, then nothing… Hey, your knee! How bad?"

"Now you remember. Lovely." Karena winced. "It's not bleeding anymore, though I suspect if the bullet was out it would be better... You're actually only missing a minute or two, Hardy. I was trying to will you to take the shot, you started blinking like some sort of overgrown owl, and the thug decided he'd waited enough."

"So he fired first." Frank let her caustic manner slide.

"Hard to tell. More all at once I suppose. Anyway, the two of you ended on the ground and for a minute there I thought I was spending the evening alone."

Frank started to shake his head and instantly reconsidered. "No. I activated the GPS in my boots before I went looking for you."

"Figured that out once I stole your footwear." Karena shifted her leg with a wince. "Marcus should be here mid-morning."

"Probably. Guess we wait."

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Frank ran his fingers through his hair, carefully avoiding the left sided staples. _Another centimeter…_

"But we have to be at the drug raid! We have no idea if Duering managed to contact his suppliers with the deal or not. If he did, Sanchez and I can play it mostly as originally intended. I can ferret out which Agents besides Sanchez are dirty. If not, then the DEA agents may still tip their hands while we're waiting, and I can just play stupid when Duering doesn't show up."

"Look, Doug, this is up the command chain from either of us and I don't think playing stupid is your strong suit. We have your evidence against Sanchez and Clark. You and Karena are headed back to DC for reassignment." Marcus was staring at agent before him, admiring the determination, but needing to convince him to head back to the United States. He'd been working this case with Doug Hardy for the last six or seven months now, but his supervisor had been clear – it was temporary. Too bad, really, he would have liked to have had the kid long term.

An exasperated sigh finally followed. "Fine."

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Joe laughed, wiping the blue icing off his nose with the heel of his hand. "So that's how it is, is it?"

Vanessa's giggles escaped her attempt at control. "I'm sorry. You just looked so funny trying to sneak a bite of that and I thought I'd, um, help."

"Uh-huh." He batted the last of the frosting out impossibly long eyelashes before advancing on his spoon-wielding fiancée. "The question, love, is who's going to help you?"

"Joe? No, I, um… Joe... Ooompphh…" The laughter verged on hysteric as she backed into the countertop, losing her avenue of escape. "No! No I… Uggh!"

The blue smear now made it way across her cheek as Joe deposited as much as he could scrape off his face before pinning Vanessa against the granite and grabbing for the spoon. His own laughter made his words difficult to understand. "No way are you going to attack me with this!"

"I… already… DID!" Her squeals interrupted her speech as she squirmed away.

Joe let her up, seemingly conceding, then scooped her up and ran madly for the living room sofa. Suddenly he was on top of her, nuzzling the icing off her cheek. A few seconds later and the laughter had dissipated, replaced by passionate kisses and needy touches.

Vanessa wrapped slim arms around his back, pulling him closer and nipping his ear. "I love you."

He kissed her deeply again, then propped an elbow beneath him, staring mesmerized at the pewter-grey eyes and panting. "And I love you, Nessa. Always."

The opening of the front door produced a scramble back to a mostly seated pose. Joe drew a trembling breath, willing his heart back to a steady rate and his temperature back to normal. _Seven more months, Hardy. You can live that long. Just have to travel to Antarctica… and stay there…_

"Vanessa? I'm home."

"Yeah, Mom, we're in here." Vanessa smacked lightly at Joe's hand, which was making its way under the hem of her blouse, mouthing "be good."

"Always am." He whispered back at her before returning to a normal volume. "Hello, Andrea."

Mrs. Bender entered the room, grinning at the remnants of frosting on both faces. "I take it you finished my cake?"

"Yes, just… cleaning up the icing." Vanessa burst into laughter.

"Um-hmm. Well, ah, good." Andrea gazed between the two, aware she'd interrupted the amorous pair. Since Vanessa had completed her master's degree several months earlier, she'd been living with her mother again, figuring there was no real need to set up a household when she'd soon be marrying Joe. Logically, financially, it made perfect sense. The practicality, however, left something to be desired. "Dinner at eight, then?"

"Sounds wonderful. I have a few things left to do at the office if you lovely ladies will excuse me." Joe made a show of including both of them in his exit before winking at Ness. "Be back around seven thirty."

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Six o'clock that evening found Joe pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his hands across his face. Maybe he could grind his eyes back into wakefulness. He shrugged. Maybe not.

Sighing, he pushed the massive stack of still remaining insurance documents away, aware tomorrow promised to be just as much fun as today. At least there was Andrea's birthday dinner tonight to provide a break. He stood up, stretching his arms overhead, and decided to make some coffee. His father had stopped the post two-thirty in the afternoon coffee making a year ago, declaring his son to be hyper enough to put a pack of frantic puppies to shame. Today must be puppy naptime, however, and the senior detective was in Boston meeting with the police department there about security protocols. What he didn't know…

Sitting down with the pipping cup, Joe thumbed through the newspaper he had ditched on his desk early that morning. He skipped the headlines, having read them already, and eventually found himself perusing the classifieds.

Suddenly he froze, coffee half way to his mouth. _Was that?_

He reread the advertisement slowly, making certain he saw every word.

 _Sherlock needs Watson, usual place, Wednesday._

Slowly, Joe sat down the cup and smiled. _Frank…_

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To be continued:

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	6. Chapter 6

Asunder 6

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Thanks to ErinJordan and max2013 for the reviews on the last chapter. That chapter and this one are short but sort of stop at a natural point, so I decided to post them close together. Then I'm back to the salt mines the next few days, so to speak.

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Joe stood searching the crowd, eventually deciding he must have arrived first. Unusual, since he was three minutes late, but possible, he supposed. Three minutes was practically a record for him anyway, but he was so eager to see his brother that he set record time. He scanned the diner again, coming to an abrupt halt. Nah, couldn't be. But… Frank?

He stared at the figure facing the back of the restaurant, long brown hair waving down past the shoulders of the blue fisherman's sweater. Faded, ripped jeans encased a trim waist before being lost in worn leather boots that had definitely seen better days. Joe edged his way between tables, stopping when he had a clear anterior view. The man looked up, apparently aware of his scrutiny. The thick beard and mustache were as unfamiliar as the long locks, but the raised eyebrow was as familiar as his own face in the mirror.

"Doug?" Joe stared a minute longer before breaking into a grin. "Man, look at you!"

His brother stood, enveloping his sibling in a hug. "Joe! It's been what, two years? How are you? How's your folks and that brother of yours?"

"Good, good. Working non-stop and all that. I'm engaged now, too." His smile never wavered, but he peered at his brother, wondering if he'd known.

"I heard about that, admittedly four months late." Frank allowed a bit of his relief that Joe wasn't married yet to show on his face. "So, when's the big day?"

"Not until next summer, anyway. Still got a few family commitment things to work out." Joe held back, waiting for his brother.

"Sometimes that does take a while, doesn't it cousin?" Frank looked at the diner seemingly casually, taking in absolutely everything. "This place is busier than I remember. Thought I might see some of the old gang, but there's nobody here I know. Oh well."

"Yeah, somedays I come into the city and see half my college class, other days it's like today and there's nobody." _Come on, Frank, no one followed me here and I think you're telling me you're in the clear, too._

Frank nodded and relaxed into his chair. "So how are you, Joe? Really?"

"I think the question is how are you, bro?"

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An hour later they had covered most of Joe and Fenton's cases as well as Frank's work for his uncle, switching between covers and the DEA, CIA, and Homeland Security in an attempt to find dirty agents that were involved with international terrorism on the side. He was going back to the CIA with his partner on his next assignment; the DEA gig turning out to be primarily a combination of illegal drug trading and human trafficking. Certainly something he wanted to stop as much as anybody, but not particularly terrorism connected.

"So, Doug, huh?" Joe grinned at his brother.

"Yeah. It was weird at first, but it made sense for a long-term cover with the agencies. I mean, Doug's our cousin, so it's certainly easy to remember the details about schooling, educational background, etc., and it gives me a reason to keep at least vague tabs on what's going on with you and Dad without having to hide anything. And anyone who has seen 'Frank' doesn't worry about the resemblance, at least not when I'm like this. I think most of the guys I've worked with think poor Doug is jealous of his famous uncle and cousins."

Joe laughed. "Clearly, these are people who have never met Doug."

"Yeah, you could say that." Frank chuckled too. The last time either of them had spoken to their second cousin was five years ago, and they'd had to hike through Nepal to do it. Doug was about as off the grid as you could get, and he could care less about detective work. He was teaching improved soil conservation and agriculture techniques to the native population in the Himalayans and was unlikely to ever return to New York. He'd asked Frank at the time if he willing to 'cut ties and live in a yurt' like it was his own ticket to nirvana.

It was amazingly comfortable to talk to Joe again, discussing everything that was going on without naming anything or anyone in detail, knowing he was understood. In the last two years, he could think of half an hour when he'd felt that way. He believed in what he was doing, truly, but his intense need to escape from Bayport and Callie was gone. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home… but he couldn't yet.

"Geeze, Frank, you need to eat something." Joe had finished his food and picked a few fries off his sibling's plate.

"I can hardly be held responsible for skipping food if you keep stealing all of it." The eyebrow went up again.

Joe shoved his empty Styrofoam container toward the center of the gingham tablecloth complete with plastic daisy, then grabbed another piece of bread from the basket, dousing it in butter. "I've always stolen your food. You never dropped twenty pounds over it before."

Frank shrugged. "Twenty-five. It's not a big deal."

"Uh-huh. Right." Joe assessed his elder sibling more critically, taking in more than the surprisingly gaunt face. If the loose navy sweater was supposed to be camouflage, his brother needed a few pointers. The wool pooled around his clearly concave middle, but it did nothing to hide the bulk of widened shoulders. If Frank had managed to pile on that much muscle and still lose weight since he'd seen him last, there wasn't anything left to the rest of him. "So, what exactly are you eating these days, anyway?"

Frank stared back before mentally capitulating. Joe wearing his current face was a bulldog with his favorite bone; letting it go was a physical impossibility. "Tortillas mostly, more bananas than I thought possible, and coffee. Some days supplies are a little light."

"Define light."

"Hiding can be more of a priority than eating in the field, Joe, you know that. Besides, there's always plenty of coffee."

"Gallons of coffee because you can't trust the people you're around enough to risk a full eight-hour snooze isn't a food substitute, Frank, it's a free ticket to caffeine induced crazy land."

"I can see where crazy land would be something you'd be an authority on."

"Very funny."

Frank nodded. "I thought so. How did you know?"

"What, that you don't trust the people you're working with, or that getting murdered in your sleep is a perk that didn't make your job brochure?" Joe plopped his elbows on the table, leaning over Frank. "Either one is fairly obvious - if you happen to be a phenomenally brilliant little brother detective."

"I leave the country temporarily and now you're the brilliant one?" It took some effort, but Frank manufactured a grin. Joe didn't use his larger frame to attempt to loom over him very often, and it wasn't particularly appreciated.

Joe's smile was more effortless, but short-lived. "Always. Now eat."

"Fine." An enormous wad of french fries disappeared into Frank in one alarming gulp. "Not my fault if I choke."

"I'd rather you didn't. The idea of this hole in the wall diner was to go low-key. I'm thinking the whole Heimlich maneuver scene would blow that."

"I'll make sure to do my choking in the middle of the forest or something then." Frank snagged a few more fries from his plate.

"Just not the jungle, okay?" Joe's words took a slightly harder edge.

One that Frank didn't miss. "You're not going to drop it about me going back, are you?"

Joe rapidly shook his head. "No. You said you needed to get out of town for a while. You've certainly done more than that. You don't need to go back."

"I'm only in the States another week, let's enjoy Bayport for a few days instead of rehashing this. Again."

Joe calmed down instantly, the mercurial temperament everyone else discarded at age three somehow cherished and refined in the younger Hardy. "Ok. I'm all for Bayport dead ahead… But you should give some thought to staying put when we get there."

Frank sighed. "I can't do that. I promised to…"

"No. You accepted a job, that's not a promise. Even family jobs can be resigned…"

The abrupt pause hung, awkward. "Look, nobody had any idea this would take so long, and I'm more than ready to be home. I miss regular detective cases, I miss Mom and Dad, and God help me, I even miss you stealing my food, but I can't bail out in the middle of a case."

"You're not in the middle of case. You have enough contact information to justify the time you've already spent and there's always going to be something around the corner. Intelligence gathering doesn't have a clean end like an investigation does. At some point you just have to get out."

"Didn't know you were paying that much attention to Uncle Joe's family dinner lectures."

"I was always paying attention, but that isn't where that little gem comes from."

Frank gave a questioning look. "No?"

"No. That one's all Dad." Joe tapped his thumb idly against the table, debating. "You know, having always worked for Dad or Uncle Joe, you may not be familiar with this, but when you take a job, it's not a lifetime got-a-license-at-the-courthouse-and-promised-at-the-altar kind of a thing. You can quit. Preferably before you get killed."

Frank ducked his head, intently studying the folds of his napkin. "I can't, Joe. We're on to something big; I need a few more months. I'll be fine… and that is a promise."

Joe closed his eyes, silently counting to ten and breathing slowly before he replied. He hadn't missed the new scar in Frank's hair. "Ok."

Frank waited for more, but Joe didn't say another word. "Just ok?"

"Yeah." Joe smiled, a small half smirk that didn't show any teeth. "You promised. It was always good enough before."

Frank met his brother's eyes, silently completing the conversation before donning a wicked grin. "Ok. Now about this commitment at the altar topic….."

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To be continued:


	7. Chapter 7

Asunder 7

Author's Note: Hi everybody. As always, thank you so much for the reviews to the last chapter from Cherylann, max2013, BMSH, Caranath, ErinJordan, and sm2003495; it means a lot as I try to get back in the swing of writing regularly after a very difficult last year and bit. Reviews make me smile!

This chapter is a bit of a transition between the start of this story and the action of the middle, so bear with me.

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Frank grinned at the familiar blue metal keys in his hand, shaking his head at his brother. "I can't believe you moved in here."

Sneaking past his sibling into the apartment that was now his, Joe shrugged. "It was bigger than my place. Besides, I told you I kept it a year ago."

"Yeah, you did. It just didn't sink in." Frank sank into the grey sofa, gazing around his former living room at his mostly elegant furnishings. "I see your favorite chair made the trip."

Joe smirked. "Of course it did. Your furniture needed some life, some beauty, some je ne sais quoi…"

"Some fleas, more likely." The squat blue and orange plaid chair in question sat there imitating a rumpled lump, a small tuft of stuffing protruding.

"Hey!" Joe bristled indignantly before breaking into laughter. "So, you going to let me tell anyone you're here?"

"Give me an hour, then we can go to Mom and Dad's. Might be better if I slept over there anyway; there's not much room here. Are there still any of my old clothes here? Everything in my bag is about the same as what I'm wearing."

"Most of your stuff is at Mom and Dad's, but the hall closet is still packed." Joe pointed at the tiny closet in the equally stunted hall.

Frank nodded, selected a few things, and headed into the bathroom.

He glanced at Joe after emerging from the shower, dressed in a button down but still sporting ripped jeans. "Better?"

Joe looked at the clean-shaven face and inclined his head. "You look more like you and less like Grizzly Adams, anyway. I thought you were going with the khakis."

Frank frowned. "I was, but they're too loose. Maybe you could pick me up some pants?"

"You really didn't bring anything that fits?" Joe gave his brother an incredulous look.

"Not that doesn't make it look like we're casing the place. Dad might be good with it, but I suspect the haircut is going to be enough for Mom."

Joe snorted. "Lack of one, you mean. But I see your point. I take it you aren't making any public appearances in the next few days."

"Probably best not to. Not hiding out exactly, but I'd rather not be the talk of the town, either."

"What gives? You said you're going for reassignment, but you also said you're in the middle of something. And now you're lying low…"

"Just a feeling I guess."

"Thought that was my department." Joe waited, inviting him to say more.

Instead Frank frowned slightly. "I thought so too."

The silence stretched a minute before he visibly shook it off, starting to run his fingers through his hair. "Maybe I should pull this back."

"Yeah, it hides the scar better."

Frank startled for the second time in as many minutes, staring at his sibling.

"Of course I saw it, Frank. You may be the one playing Agent, but the rest of us haven't gone stupid." He threw a questioning look at his brother. When nothing followed, he arranged his features into a placid façade. "I'll be back with new pants."

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Frank ducked a roundhouse punch and skipped backwards a few steps, assessing his options. His opponent was considerably taller and almost certainly stronger, although seemingly more comfortable with his fists than his feet. Frank launched a kick, but it fell short, leaving him woefully overbalanced. A quick hit to his left shoulder followed, causing his arm to droop.

The other man took advantage, rapidly punching the shoulder again before sweeping a kick at Frank's knees. Hardy fell with more acceleration than his adversary could have predicted, tumbling to the earth.

Frank let the collapse carry him farther than expected, rolling backward from his knees to his spine, while his hands planted palmward on the ground behind his shoulders. He sprung upward suddenly, both feet striking the collarbone of the man looming above him.

The other man grunted as he hit the ground, as much from Frank landing on his chest as his collision with the earth. Frank pulled his right fist back, ready for another blow.

"Unnnccclleee." The wheezed word hung there, panted through gasps for air.

Frank's respiration wasn't much better. "Wh-What?"

"Uncle."

Frank sat back, sliding onto the grass. "Geeze, Hooper."

"Geeze?" Biff shook his head, removing the headgear. "You're the one that turned a little exercise into the damn mixed martial arts championship."

Frank grinned, wiping a trace of blood from his lip before unwrapping the tape from his knuckles. "Nah, just a friendly sparring match."

"Um… sure." Biff stood, offering Frank a hand up before walking back into the Hardy home.

"Chet?! Why don't you and Joe keep Biff entertained while I grab a shower? Unless he wants to use the shower downstairs?" Frank called out as he came through the door, seemingly more relaxed than the night before, having mostly survived his mother's greeting and a long talk with his father.

Joe watched his brother go up the stairs, not saying a word until he heard the water start. "Welcome to my world. You ok, Ox?"

"Yeah. Remind me never to tick him off, though, will ya? I mean, I think you might still take him in a fair fight, but I also don't know that he does fair anymore. What has he been up to, anyway?"

Joe tipped his head to the side, thinking. "About what you'd expect."

"Hasn't he told you more than that? It's been two years." Chet chimed in, casting a worried glance up the stairs.

"He has, but it's his to share." Joe shared the anxious look. "He says he wants to be home, just has something to finish first. Wish I could convince to stay here."

"Let me try." Chet shrugged, a bit wistful.

Joe nodded, arms opening in a 'be my guest' gesture.

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Frank was back down the stairs in twenty minutes, grinning at his friends. "Can you guys stay for dinner? Mom's going to be back in an hour or so and promised to cook something for Joe and me… which probably means enough food for three weeks, minimum."

"It's because you're bloody skinny, Frank." Biff shook his head. "That's one reason I agreed to that sparring match of yours… I had to convince myself you weren't sick. Unfortunately, I have to get back to Philly tonight for practice in the morning."

Frank grimaced. "I'm not sick, just eating field rations. Hate that you have to go back so soon."

"Coach will _not_ be happy if I'm not there. Heck he may not be happy with this new bruise collection, but at least I buy that you're not sick." Biff chuckled before pulling Frank in for a quick hug. "Try to be here when I come in for Christmas, ok?"

"No can do, sorry. Maybe in the spring…" Frank looked suddenly uncertain before covering it quickly with a smile.

Biff caught the variance, but decided this was between Frank and his brother. "In the spring, then. I gotta run."

"Yeah. Have a good trip back."

"You too. Bye."

"Bye." Frank waited for full minute after Biff walked out the carved front door and then turned back to his parent's cream and sage living room, catching a gaze between his brother and Chet. Joe disappeared into the kitchen before he could ask.

Chet settled into the striped sofa before waving Frank over to a chair. "So, did Joe tell you about Candace?"

A wide smile graced Frank's face. "He told me you're engaged and that she is a miniature force of nature."

"She is at that." Chet laughed. "Wouldn't let her hear the miniature part, though. The wedding's in February."

"Valentine's Day?"

"Apparently it was that or 'I could wait until hell froze over and some other woman chose to thaw me out' – and I thought all girls wanted to get married in June."

"Don't think you'd make a good popsicle."

"My thoughts exactly, so February it is. Joe's the best man, but I could do with another groomsman." Chet let the statement hang.

Frank bit his lip, searching for the right words. Once upon a time, he would likely have been best man, but that wasn't the problem. Joe and Chet had grown closer ever since the trip overseas their senior year of high school, so that wasn't it at all. "Chet, I'm honored, but I'm going back to work in two days. It wouldn't be right to promise I'll be here by February."

"There's an easy way to avoid that sort of schedule conflict, you know. Stay here."

Frank closed his eyes, debating with himself. "I wish I could."

"If you're still worrying about Callie, she hasn't been back. Joe says she's somewhere out west."

"It's really not that, or not anymore at least. I'll be there if I can… maybe save me a cummerbund?"

"Brave man having never met Candace and her love of lilac and teal checks." Chet picked up his glass of iced tea, swallowing a few sips. "Joe could use a little moral support, too, you know. I think he's half afraid my mother's going to throw him out."

"Still no better between the two of them, huh?" Frank was concerned, but there wasn't much he could do. Clara Morton had not taken it at all well years before when Chet didn't return from their trip to Southeast Asia… and she laid the blame for his imprisonment there squarely on Joe.

"Better would require acknowledging his continued existence. He tried to speak with her in town a few years ago, but she never even slowed down. I know he hasn't been to the farm in the years since graduation. I'm counting on her urge to maintain peace at the ceremony."

"She does know he's best man, right?"

"She knows. Doesn't talk about it, but she knows."

"Then hopefully everyone will keep their cool for the day and let you and Candace enjoy the wedding."

Chet nodded somewhat glumly, disappointed with his ploy. "I hope so. And Joe's a big boy, but I honestly thought if I wove that angle into it, you'd stay for his sake."

"I can't Chet. End of story." Frank resolutely shook his head.

"Even I can tell you're ready to come home! My wedding will be fine either way, but cut Joe a break here. He's worried about you."

"No need, and Joe is a grown man. A couple of hours of politely ignoring your mother is definitely within his repertoire." Frank's fingers made it through his hair this time, tugging the damp ponytail free.

"No more guilt trips about the wedding, then, but why will you not come home for gosh sake? You told him a year when you left – it's been two. The Frank I remember never would have broken a promise to his brother. Never." Chet sat back, watching his friend.

The brunette paused, jaw clenching and unclenching in rapid succession, both hands curling unconsciously into fists before he uncoiled them and placed them firmly on his thighs in an attempt to enforce calm. "I'm the same guy, Chet. This won't take long."

"Uh-huh. Right. Famous last words." The words were harsh, but the expression was not.

"Not Joe's at least." Frank stood, staring at nothing.

"Frank?" Chet rose, placing himself in Frank's line of sight. The nature of this conversation had suddenly changed, less of a disagreement but somehow more emotionally charged.

"Frank?... Earth to Hardy… Hey, no more flak, but what's going on?... I know that look… Frank?... Frank?!"

Frank's whispered response was only for himself, totally unaware of Morton four inches from his nose. "Dragging my brother into this is not going to happen again. It's not. Not again."

 _Again?_

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To be continued:


	8. Chapter 8

Asunder 8

Thank you so much for the reviews. They mean a lot.

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Frank tapped his fingers against the arm of the leather chair, sighing in exasperation. Thirty-four minutes late. First, he had to leave Bayport a day early, now his uncle was thirty-four, no, now thirty-five minutes late. Perfect.

He stood, smoothing out his silver striped tie before beginning a pacing circuit of the waiting area. Faux tan leather and mahogany chairs in a row, tired tweed carpet, and a small walnut colored desk currently occupied by a pale woman in a bland beige suit, complete with mousey brown hair. Frank tried to shake the impression that if he waited much longer, she'd fade into the cream flecked wallpaper. Washington, DC antique meets governmental décor at its finest.

Eventually, the door to the inner office opened, depositing his uncle in the vestibule. "Frank, good to see you. Come in, come in. Sorry it took me a minute."

"Forty-three, actually. How are you?" Frank shook his uncle's hand, following him into the office.

In contrast to the waiting area, everything in here was streamlined, a plain chrome and glass table with a single laptop. Joseph McCullough was as burnished as the desk, crisp uniform impeccably tailored.

He closed the door securely before he spoke. "Good. Sorry to pull you back here early, but there's some new information."

Frank sighed and sat on the edge of a tailored chair, both hands on his knees. "I need to speak to you before we start talking shop."

Joseph stopped short, giving his nephew a curious gaze before sitting in the opposite seat. "Alright, Frank."

"When I started here, I intended it to be temporary. A year. That's what I promised Joe. That's what I committed to for you. It's been just under two." Frank noticed one of his ankles starting to bounce and clamped it back under control. "I need to get back home, long-term."

"I understand you feel that way, but right now we need to…"

"And I'm not bailing on our current mission," Frank interrupted before the conversation could steer into work, "but I need to know you hear me."

A loud exhaled sigh followed. "I do hear you. I guess I kind of hoped you'd stay. You're the best civilian operative I've got."

A small smile snuck across Frank's face. "I appreciate that. Uncle Joseph, I admire what you do tremendously, but in the end, I want a home. I want a family, even if it's Mom and Dad and Joe and Vanessa. That's something you've never had, and if I stay as an agent, realistically, I won't either."

"As the head of a task force to investigate agents involved in terrorism and treason, I have to protest your departure. As your uncle… go home to Laura and Fenton… after we finish this mission. Even I have some regrets that I don't want to pass along."

The tight smile strained a bit. "Yes sir. So, what have we got?"

"Something I think is going to be of personal as well as professional interest to you." McCullough extracted a pile of documents from his brief case. "Take a look."

Frank began to read, slowing down after the first few pages, then nearly dragging his reading rate to a crawl as he reached the middle. "I was hoping it was my imagination."

"Have you _ever_ known these things to be your imagination, Frank?"

"No." The brunette ruefully shook his head.

"Joe would be valuable on this one, you know. He knows the ground work." Joseph leaned forward, silently willing agreement at his nephew.

"It was a long time ago. Besides, Joe and I had more, ah, interaction with the native residents than the American agents involved. His knowledge of Shuman wouldn't be that helpful."

McCullough grimaced, recalling what those _interactions_ had entailed. "I ran that island for six months afterward, Frank. Can't say I blame you for wanting to leave your brother out of it."

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Frank draped over a set of airport chairs, trying desperately to pretend he fit. He was aware of Karena's smirk and opted to ignore it, envying her comfort in the Lilliputian furniture. Eventually he yanked his feet back through the armrest and pulled himself into the seat.

"Thought you'd get tired of the contortionist act eventually, Hardy."

"Laugh it up. You can actually sleep in airport seating." He gave up and stood, stretching over his head.

Karena scowled and scuffed her feet against the white marble concourse. "Everything in life is easier if you're taller. Except for the airport seating and plane rides, so yes, I'm enjoying it. About the only that's gone right the last three weeks."

"Poor baby. Had to go home and relax and watch TV or read novels or whatnot instead of getting to hang out with me in an airport."

"Actually, I went to my brother's place for a krav maga refresher." Karena smirked, looking at Frank with an open challenge.

One he pointedly decided not to notice. "Didn't know you were Israeli. Must have made rehabbing your knee more interesting."

"Eh." She shrugged. "And I'm not. Israeli."

A personal tidbit. Would wonders never cease. "So where are you from?"

"Since I was eight, Georgia."

Frank noted the faraway stare. His tone when he spoke again was much softer. "And before that?"

For a long time she didn't answer. When she finally did, it was clear the caring and sharing moment was already over. "Hell… So, tell me what you know about Ranei."

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Joe drummed his fingers on the desk, idly tapping out rhythms while he read over prospective cases. A few seemed potentially interesting; art theft, corporate sabotage… scattered amidst the divorce cases and an elderly gentleman that was convinced of a conspiracy around his building to steal turtles. That might be worth figuring out just for the peace of mind…

 _Me and You and A Dog Named Boo_. Huh. Lobo. Joe scratched his fingers through his blond hair and stood to pace around. When the rhythms became recognizable songs, it was time to admit his brain was wandering. To Georgia of all places…

"Dad?" The younger Hardy called out to his father, unsure if he was still in the office. The second case might require some discussion. He walked to the anterior room, listening. "Dad?"

"Must have gone home." Joe wandered back to his own desk, picking up the final folder. It was a single sheet of type written text. _Do you want some coffee? Maybe without a babysitter this time?_ "This is odd… it's almost like… nah…"

Joe resumed his review of the prior cases, making several pages of notes on the art works that had been stolen. Overall, he thought this was the first case to take on, although he could certainly make an argument for starting surveillance work on the corporate case as well. He'd run it by his dad in the morning. Everything else open on the books was more in the waiting for court dates phase, should be able to tackle both.

He found his mind back on the typed sheet. _Coffee?_ He pulled the paper out and examined it again. The strangeness of it was evident… it was truly typed by a typewriter, not from a computer printer, and it was on old fashioned stationary. Joe peered at the background more closely. It was a swirled sage and blue, sort of an old-world motif.

The paper itself was heavy, too. Similar to the handmade leaves he'd come across in the historic districts in New York, or Williamsburg for that matter. And how did it get to the office in the first place? There wasn't a mark on the outside of the business envelope it arrived in. No address, not even a name. _Curioser, and curioser…_

"I give up… at least for the moment." Joe stood up, snagged his keys off the desk, and headed for his parents.

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"Mom! Dad! You here?!" Joe yelled from the front door, kicking off his shoes before padding across the deep carpet.

"In here." His mother's voice called from the kitchen.

"Hi. Whatcha doing?" The youngest Hardy sniffed appreciatively, peeking around the counters.

Laura smacked at Joe's hand with a spoon, just missing as he nabbed a chunk of chocolate dough. "Those are raw, Joseph!"

"Umm-hmm." Joe swallowed noisily. "Best way."

Laughter softened his mom's words. "I swear. Let you around cookie dough and it's like you're four again."

"Four was a very good year." Joe danced around Laura and snitched another bite. "These are good!"

"I'm glad you approve. Why don't you grab the pan out of the oven?" The petite blonde motioned across the room. "And don't eat any until they cool down!"

Joe deposited the chocolate clusters on the granite. "Okay, okay. What are all these for, anyway?"

"Fundraiser at church. Well, twelve dozen. Three dozen are for your father and you." Laura handed Joe a spoon and gestured at an empty tray. "Start putting out the next batch."

Joe complied, checking the spacing on the cookies that had already been baked. "Is Dad around? I wanted him to look at something."

"Afraid he's out for the evening. He and Sam and Ezra are playing cards." Laura smiled.

"What?"

"You know about this, Joe. Once a month they meet to review 'PI-Police Interaction Policies'. They usually play poker until about midnight."

"Yeah, I know about that." He shook his head with a chuckle. "Just didn't think you did."

"There are things you learn after thirty-two years of marriage, dear. I don't know about the once a month poker game. Just like your father doesn't know that the once a quarter library society conference is actually a musical in City with Mrs. Hooper." His mother gave an enigmatic smile. "The trick is never to keep any real secrets from each other."

Joe paused, looking into azure eyes so very much like his own. "Mom, I love Vanessa more than I can possibly explain, but you and Dad… it always seems so effortless. How do you do it?"

A fluid laugh filled the kitchen. "Ah, Joe. Effortless it is not. Especially early on, it was quite a challenge. He was never home! But then I realized that the only one who hated how much Fenton worked more than I did was Fenton. And yes, I was terrified something would happen to him and I would end up alone… and if I walked away I would just end up alone all the sooner. When your father walks through that door, though, the world sings again. I love him."

"Well yeah, he's your husband…"

"No, don't say that like it's obvious. Yes, we have that affection that comes from building a life together, but we also love each other… the same love that weakens your knees if you think about it too long or stops your heart from beating when you stare in each other's eyes. Don't let that go. Ever."

Joe smiled quietly. "We won't."

Bing. Bing. Bing.

"The cookies. Guess we got side tracked, huh? I'll get them." Laura rose, grabbing the oven mitt on the way. "What did you want to show Fenton, anyhow?"

Joe pulled out the piece of stationary. "This. It was at the office."

Laura start to reach for it, then hesitated.

"Go ahead. I already dusted it for prints. There aren't any." Joe frowned.

"Looks like an invitation for coffee. Sure it's for you?" Laura turned the paper over, mirroring the frown.

"There's no name on it anywhere, but for some reason, yes. I wanted Dad's take on it."

"I can show it to him when he comes in, if you like." Laura waited, watching her son.

"No, I'll take it back to work in the morning." Joe stood up, swaying a little on his feet.

"Joe?"

He shook his head, clearing it. "Sorry, must have stood up too fast. I'm fine. I'm going to head on home, though."

"You're sure you're all right? You haven't been sleeping all that much this week." Unable to squelch the instinct, she caught her son's hand.

Joe squeezed the hand gently. "I'm fine. Nothing a night in my own bed can't handle."

"Ok then. Goodnight."

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A few hours later, Fenton entered his home, surprised at the lights coming from the kitchen. Usually Laura was in bed when he made it in. _Perhaps we can go to bed together…_

He turned the alarm back on and entered the kitchen, choking back a cough at the aroma of burnt cookies. He rapidly strode to the oven, snagging a mitt, and retrieved the charred lumps of chocolate and nuts. A whiff of smoke escaped from the oven, causing him to return to the alarm panel in a rush. Shutting down the smoke alarm before it could clang, he called out for his wife. "Laura?"

He scanned the kitchen, finding nothing amiss aside from the cookies, and went back through the living room, again searching for anything wrong. He stopped into his study long enough to grab his firearm, before clearing the remainder of the downstairs and heading up the staircase. He wasn't certain anyone had been here, but the house had a 'feel' to it. He resisted the urge to yell for his bride again, creeping silently toward his bedroom.

His breath caught as spotted the slim foot extending beyond the bathroom door. _Laura…Please…_

He scoped the remaining rooms upstairs hurriedly and returned to the master bath, falling to his knees beside his sleeping wife. "Laura? Sweetheart? Can you wake up for me?"

He checked her over for injury, finding nothing. "Laura? Honey? It's me, Fenn. Come on, honey, wake up."

Nothing. Fenton fumbled in his pocket for his phone, dialing EMS. Ensured they were on their way, he resumed his gentle speech, pleading. "Laura? Please honey. Laura?"

The minutes passed as he pushed silken strands off her forehead, the other hand resting on her steadfast pulse, more to reassure him than her.  
"Laura? Can you talk to me? Please?"

"Fenton?" The name was whispered, croaked, but the eyes didn't open.

 _Thank God._ "Yes, sweetheart. I'm here. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Fenton." She was reassured by his presence and drifted back towards sleep.

"No, hon, can't let you do that. Not yet. Please Laura. What happened?" He tapped slightly at her cheeks, hoping she'd awake more fully. "Laura?"

"Making cookies. Got dizzy. Fainted." The words were painful, hesitant.

"Ok. It's going to be ok. The ambulance is coming. I love you." Fenton stared at the pale face, fearful. Laura was never sick. A cold, sure, and she's been seriously injured once, but ill?

The arrival of the medic crew interrupted his pondering. Fenton responded to their questions as accurately as he could, but he hadn't spoken to his wife between seven and midnight.

"Fenton?" The soft inquiry announced Laura's return to awareness.

"Still right here, honey. Do you know when you got dizzy? The medics are asking."

She shook her head slightly, trying to puzzle something out. "Joe."

"What about Joe?" Fenton took a guess. "Joe was here tonight?"

She nodded, eyes drifting closed yet again. "Joe was dizzy. Love you."

Fenton drew a deep breath, telling himself Laura was confused.

"Sir? We need to move, she's unconscious again and her blood pressure is dangerously low."

"Um, right. Of course. I'll follow you to Bayport General." He kissed Laura on her forehead. "I love you."

He sprinted toward his car, dialing his son as soon as the door closed. "Come on, Joe, pick up!"

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Joe drove into his parking space and sat there several minutes before he lurched out to lean against the car's dark paint. _Geeze I'm tired. It isn't even all that late._ He finally drug in through his building door, figuring the doorman would be out to check on him otherwise.

Once he was in his apartment, he tried to hang his keys up on the ring but found he missed, the metal jangling to the floor. _Keys fell. Ha, that's funny. It's like they're still moving. Like little mice…_

 _Nope, more like bugs… Yuk… Creepy, crawly bugs…_ He gazed back at the ring, finding there were three of them now _._

 _Weird. There was only one this morning. Maybe they grew, like a plant. Have to water plants. Can you water a keyring? Nah, would rust… and ruin the wall. Well, it's growing anyway… Now there are five… and they're purple… and green… Ahkkhh! They're bugs! Or something… Wait, I'm not afraid of bugs… just that they're everywhere… that's all. Guess that's ok… Sort of… Not really…_

 _No! No, it's not! Get off me! Get off! Get off! Get off! Get 'em off!_

Joe staggered, hopelessly dizzy, swatting at the conjurings of his imagination, before he stumbled and fell. His head impacted the coffee table on the way down, knocking the younger Hardy out cold.

By the time his father tried to phone him later, he lay prone on his floor, twitching slightly. One hand was skewered by the glass of the table while a wide swath of the blond waves had surrendered to crimson. He'd tried to draw something on the wooden floor, a curved dip perhaps, or the start of a word. The clearly remarkable part of the sketch, however, was his medium. Whatever it might say, it was drawn in Joe's own blood.

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To be continued:


	9. Chapter 9

Asunder 9

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Thank you so much for the reviews over the last 2 chapters – I was desperate to finish the last chapter before returning to work last week, so I didn't acknowledge the names, but they mean everything to me. Thanks again to Caranath, Cherylann, Max2013, ErinJordan, sm2003495, julzdagger88, CincyDreamer, BMSH, WindGemini, Flowrgrl77, lucy62, Paulina Ann, and Barb.

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"Crap." Frank sank into the undergrowth, frustration evident. He sat there, heaving, willing the humid air to settle the beginnings of butterflies in his stomach. "This is so not what I needed."

"What? You don't like the accommodations?" Karena slipped to the ground beside him, her own respirations rapid. "Seemed like you were in a bloody hurry to get here, to me."

Frank shook his head, tracing his fingers along the scorched stone. "Just hoping I was wrong. Wanted to peak at the wall and find out."

"You're always wrong, Hardy. Don't need any overgrown barriers to prove that." The dark eyes searched her partner's, trying to find some reason for his unease. Sure, they were hoofing it through the jungle of yet another part of the world, looking for fellow agents that were way off the federally approved beaten path, but that was just another day in paradise, right?

"Come on, there's a cubbyhole around the foundation this way, I think. We can set up camp there." He crouched, jogging around the stone in a hunched gait.

Karena followed, silently, not seeing any evidence of this so-called cubby. There were towering trees with trunks the size of her childhood home, shorter palms, evidence of a decade old inferno, enough shrubbery to disguise their passage, and the hand-hewn stones of the ancient wall, but not so much as a square foot of bare earth. Until suddenly… there was.

She slipped below the fronds into the hollow in the bottom of the wall, which was far thicker than she had supposed. She wriggled backward into the six by eight-foot space, wishing it was taller than five feet, but none the less comfortable in the space. She rapidly slid out of her pack, set out the portable lamp, checked the available water supply, and was half way through checking her firearms when she noted that Frank wasn't doing anything.

"Hardy? You planning on me setting up everything? Get moving!" Karena huffed. Fine time to take a break. "Hey?! We've got a lot to do before dark if we're going to set up surveillance. Hardy?!"

Frank sat on the damp soil, wedged into the far corner of the enclosure. He held his right hand in his left, flexing and unflexing his fingers in a phantom grip. He stared a few feet ahead of him, gazing at something unseen.

"Hardy?" Karena edged sideways, moving into Frank's eyesight. "This isn't like you, you know. Sure, I always tell you you're wrong… but you always give me the appropriate counter argument, generally in language that requires Roget's Thesaurus."

Still nothing. Two years of the infallible know everything superman, and now… nothing. Humph. "Hardy?"

Unnerved by her partner's silence, Karena tentatively reached out her hand, intending to touch Frank's arm.

The second her almond skin touched his sun burned appendage, he sprang, capturing her wrist and wrenching it behind her while he flung her down to the ground. His knee planted between her shoulder blades, the caught wrist dangerously close to snapping. "Not Joe."

"Frank!" Her free hand clawed at the earth in front of her, searching for anything she could throw. "Frank?! It's me! Karena!"

"NO!"

She arched her spine, finally grasping his arm, but there was no strength at this angle. "FRANK! IT'S ME!"

He froze. "Karena?"

"Yeah." She held her breath, opting to wait. For what, she couldn't say.

Very slowly, he released her, edging as far away as he could within the confining space. "Oh God. I… I… I-I'mm s-sorry."

Karena moved to kneel in front of him, holding out both hands slowly. She waited until he nodded, then eased them onto his shoulders. "You ok?"

His eyes closed and suppressed a shudder. "Y-yes."

"No, you're not." Karena began to knead the tight muscles a little. "You've been here before?"

It wasn't quite a question. "Y-yes."

"Inside the wall?"

"Yes."

Somehow it wasn't quite an answer, either.

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"Let me go first, ok?" Chet plucked the blue keys from Vanessa's trembling fingers.

"I need to see Joe!" Vanessa panicked at the notion that Morton was going to deny her entry.

"Not until I do. Wait." The voice was gentle, calm, but utterly unyielding.

"But…"

"Vanessa. Wait." Chet slipped the key into the lock and slid into the apartment, easing the door closed behind him.

"Oh no… Joe…" Chet's heart pounded far louder than his whisper, the only mobile portion of either of them for a hundred beats before the older man collapsed to his knees. "Don't do this to me, Hardy… come on… I got your girl out there and she is gonna be busting in here… any minute… can't tell her that… you're…"

"Chet, you let me in!" Vanessa's calls were increasingly urgent from the hallway.

Finally, Chet found was he was seeking, the erratic thump of a pulse. "Knew you wouldn't do that to me, friend… Hang tight just one minute… gonna be okay… you gotta be ok…"

Satisfied that the heartbeat under his fingers wasn't about to cease imminently, Chet returned to the door, peaking out at Vanessa Bender. He took both her hands. "Van, Joe's here… and… it's not good… There's blood… I think he fell… I'm calling EMS… stay with him…"

"Blood!?" Vanessa blanched. "But Laura wasn't injured…"

"Yeah, but we _are_ talking about Joe." Chet breathed out a resigned sigh, hoping the younger Hardy would be ok.

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"It was definitely the paper."

Fenton ran his fingers through his clipped brunette waves absently before nodding. "Ok, thanks Sam."

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he returned his attention to his wife. "Laura?"

He settled into the tired chair where he'd spent the last twenty-four hours and grasped his wife's hand in his own. "Laura? Honey?"

"Mmmmm." The petite blonde shifted, instinctively curling towards her husband. Eventually she spoke again, not opening her eyes. "Fen?"

"I'm right here." He shifted closer, starting to stroke her hair. "I love you."

A small smile snuck across her face and her blue eyes blinked open, assessing the hospital room. "Love you, too… Um… what happened?"

"I wish I knew. You seem to have been poisoned." He stopped, watching as a frightened expression crossed Laura's face before being quickly banished.

"Poison? I was poisoned?" Laura wrapped her mind around that for a moment before her eyes widened. "Joe!?"

Fenton glanced down at their entwined hands. "He's here. Vanessa's with him."

Laura struggled to sit up slightly. "You're not looking at me, Fenton. What's wrong with our son?"

"He fainted at home… and hit his head. He hasn't woken up yet." Fenton struggled to maintain a calm expression, hoping the bare bones information would work.

He should have known better. "I want to see him."

"Laura, you need to rest. I'll check on him again, and then Sam and I will find out about where that letter came from." Fenton kissed her on the forehead. "Joe's hit his head more times than either of us can count. He'll be ok."

 _Don't make a liar out of me, son…_

 _._

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She sat the pot down, admiring the delicate silver design scattering palm tree prints along the porcelain before pouring the black coffee into a dainty cup and setting it on the saucer. She traced red gloss on her lips, then took a drink, making certain the imprint was perfectly formed. She pressed a second kiss to the blonde's cheek. Satisfied with the placement, she smirked, then removed a tissue from her pocket and blotted the remainder of her lipstick away.

She withdrew another page of the swirled paper, scrawling a quick note.

 _I can get to you and yours anywhere, Joe. Can you get to your brother?_

She surveyed the note, smiling, before setting it beside the cup. "Ah dear, I fear our visit is almost over. I had thought you'd be awake by now, but I suppose the head injury has slowed you down a bit. Oh well. I trust you'll be back with me soon… And I did get to meet the charming Vanessa this time."

Turning back to the young woman in the bedside chair, she checked the pulse in her wrist. "Steady enough. You shouldn't be out more than another fifteen minutes, love. Let's have some fun, shall we?"

She plucked Vanessa's engagement ring from her finger and examined it. The central stone was an upright oval diamond, flanked by a pair of smaller horizontal pear cut stones. "Nice. You have good taste… in rings and men… now, what shall we do with this?... Hmm…"

Untucking the sheets from the foot of the hospital bed, she placed the ring on Joe's fourth toe. On a whim, she grabbed her bottle of deep blue nail polish and glazed the toenail as well before carefully rearranging the bedding. She uncurled some embroidery yarn from her pocket, quickly bound Vanessa's wrists behind her, and skewered an oversized sewing needle through the knot. "That's lovely."

She walked a few steps away, then turned back to the hospital bed. She bent over the sleeping form, planting a searing kiss on the pliant mouth. "That one's just for me."

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"No, really. I'm fine." Frank ran a palm over his face, exhausted. "Got caught up in a few memories, that's all."

"Look, Hardy, some memories are best left as just that, but if we need to clear out of here, say the word." Karena watched her partner's face, trying to gauge his mood. "Otherwise, tell me what I need to know about this place."

Frank shrugged. "I told you I was in Ranei when they had their coup attempt several years ago. My father was working; my friends, my brother, and I were surfing. The militants didn't buy that, and I got arrested for collaboration… and brought here."

"I see." Karena nodded. "The coup was fairly short, as I recall. Did you get released when it was over?"

A loud snort was the only reply for quite a while.

"No."

"Joe found me."

"In the weeds."

"After they tried to hang me."

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"Umm… I… see." Karena really didn't. "Frank?"

"Yeah… well, anyway. In the fallout afterward, a Network agent changed sides – the Nicholas Shuman we've been tracking since we left D.C. Even when it was evident that he was in Ranei, I hadn't counted on him being specifically here."

"But there are other American agents here as well. This can't have to do with the coup here years ago." Karena looked puzzled.

"I doubt it does, or at least not entirely. I think Shuman found a comfortable place to set up shop without government interference." Frank shrugged again.

"To do what?"

"Make money… sell secrets… maybe wait for another coup attempt…" Frank gripped his right wrist tight enough to turn the hand pale. "Depends on what's happening with the politics here, I suppose."

"Ah, Hardy?"

"Hmm?"

"Your hand…"

"Oh." Frank released his grasp and shook his fingers out. "Old habit I thought I had gotten rid of."

"Old habit that started here?" Karena peered at the brunette.

"Yes." The answer was almost a challenge.

One the ebony haired agent wasn't going to ignore. "Like the stutter, I assume."

"What?" Frank's head snapped up. "I do NOT stutter."

"Oooh, touchy. Generally, you don't. When you were channeling the zombie that wanted to break my arm, you did. Just saying."

"I…" Frank took a deep breath. "I do not stutter. Not that there's anything wrong with a stutter. I simply don't have one."

Karena raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Anymore. …Good night, Karena."

"Good night, Hardy."

Four hours later and Frank was instantly awake, an intense rumbling shaking the masonry wall loose until it crumbled around them.

"Karena!"

 _Damn… even the island itself hates me…_

He glimpsed a flailing arm, seeking purchase on the suddenly mobile earth before a stone struck her head and stole her from view.

"Karena!"

 _Mudslide? Earthquake?... Does it matter?_

The blocks continued to fall, a cascade of thunderous death growing as they mixed with sliding earth to roll into an inescapable wave.

"Karena…" Frank called out again, weaker, until the soil engulfed him, tumbling him, the side of the mountain, and a thousand years-worth of stone in a horrific descent; through the pain of collision with the unseen, the suffocation of scrambling for air to find cloying earth, until silence finally settled like a tomb.

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To be continued…


	10. Chapter 10

Asunder 10

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And I'm back… we're stuck with the once a week posting schedule for a few more weeks due to my work schedule, and then I'm FREE so bear with me a little longer. Many thanks to Cherylann, BMSH, sm2003495, ErinJordan, Caranath, max2013, and Lucy62 for the wonderful reviews last chapter.

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"What the _hell_ did you do?" The gargantuan man glowered at the American before him, staring at the tumbled remnants of his office.

The portly man snickered. "Calm down old friend. An associate of mine sent me reliable intelligence that McCullough was sending some agents this way to spy on me. I didn't like the idea."

"You didn't _like_ the idea?!" His mouth moved around the words as if they tasted foul. "You didn't like the idea. Well, that clearly explains everything. Don't mind the mess, and all. You do realize the walls to this fortress are… were… eleven hundred years old!"

"And you realize that the antiquated history of a bunch of local yokels is of no interest to me. The agents sent were along that wall. Now they're not, or perhaps they are… in a more permanent sense."

"Take care, Shuman. The decision was made to tolerate your presence here. I did not make it. I would not make it. Now get a crew together to go clean the debris up."

"Ah yes, that unmitigated arrogance of yours. Charming to see it make a reappearance." Nicholas shrugged. "Your wall is gone. Perhaps we can get you a nightlight if you're concerned about the boogeyman."

"As I understand your idioms, I am the boogeyman."

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"Mmmm…"

Stretch. "Geeze… Last night must have been…" Joe screwed his eyes up tight, wrinkling his nose, before starting to bat his eyelashes. "Oh man… Don't remember a party, but my head _hurts."_

"UMMMMM!"

A hand trailed up his forehead, just reaching the messy waves, when the sapphire orbs finally snapped open.

He took in the hospital room in a glance, but his focus instantly shifted to Vanessa. His beautiful, usually ethereal, Nessa, now wild eyed and covered in blood.

"Ness!?" Joe scrambled toward the chair and hit the call button at once, half stumbling in his haste. "Gawd. Hang on a second, Nessa. I'll get you loose. Please be okay, baby. Please…"

"Ummmph!"

"Shh. It's okay, Nessa. It'll be ok… please… It will…" The rambling continued as the youngest Hardy rapidly untangled the yarn wound around his fiancée, enlisting a pair of bandage scissors from the bedside table. He slid Vanessa to the tiled floor, futilely scanning for the source of bleeding. "I'm going pull this, ok?"

His gaze sought the grey orbs, surprised at the strength there. A clipped nod followed.

He grasped the corner of the duct tape over her mouth. "On three. One…two…three."

The tape came loose in truncated squeal.

"Joe!" Vanessa drew a deep breath and started again. "There was someone… a girl… then nothing… What did she do to you?"

"Me?! You're…" Joe halted his questions, instinctively pushing Vanessa back to the tiles as she started to sit up. "Easy, baby, please. Where are you hurt?"

"Joe… I'm not." Vanessa slipped her fingers to the edge of his jaw, thumb tracing pale stubble. "Stiff, yes. Scared, yes. Hurt, no."

"But…" He swallowed hard, hand plucking at the ruby soaked blouse.

"It's not real." Vanessa slowly sat up, with the faintest hint of a smile. "Least you're awake."

"Yeah. I went home last night, really dizzy… then I woke up and you were..." Joe's expression was still fearful, but no longer panicked.

"That was three night's ago, love." Vanessa took his face in both hands, tilting slightly sideways. "And that woman kissed you."

"What!?"

"My ring!"

The door banged open, stopping the simultaneous utterances and ushering in Fenton Hardy and two floor nurses. The senior detective spoke first, reacting to the sight of his son and soon to be daughter in law in the floor. "Joe, Vanessa! Everyone okay?"

"Fine." Vanessa answered first, reassuring Fenton. Joe was apt to reply fine with both legs missing while holding a bomb set to detonate the city.

"Sir, we need to check…"

Joe cut the nurse off, visibly gathering the few available threads of calm. "Everyone really is fine, despite the appearance. Dad, can you call Con Riley up here? Someone was in here, and I'd rather not contaminate anything else."

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"Ooooohhh. Cold… cold, cold, cold… ughh… cold, cold, cold…" Joe's teeth started to chatter.

"Almost got it, honey." Vanessa knelt on the mosaic floor, leaning over the edge of her mother's claw foot tub. "You sure oil or butter wouldn't be better?"

"N-no, too swollen." Joe wrapped both his arms around his well-muscled torso, trying to stay warm. The blonde was perched on the tub edge, his left foot beneath the streaming ice-cold water. He felt like he was turning as blue as the swim trunks he had on at the moment. "Cold. C-cold."

Unfortunately, he was the only one in beachwear. Vanessa was still in jeans and a white linen blouse, edging her engagement ring off of his swollen fourth toe. "Almost…"

"I felt it m-move a little, I think." Joe leaned forward a bit, trying to see. "I just d-don't want to have it cut off."

"Yeah, well you're lucky the doctor didn't spot it before you signed yourself out of the hospital." Vanessa grinned at her fiancée, immensely relieved that other than being weirded out, they both seemed to be fine. "Ooh, it's coming… got it!"

Joe lost his balance as she tugged on his foot, rump sliding from the edge of the tub into the frigid water at the bottom with a calamitous crash. "HEY!"

"Joe! I'm so sorry!" Vanessa tried for a moment, she truly did, but a giggle rapidly escaped. "You ok?"

Joe plastered on his best indignant look. "Me? Barely out of the hospital an hour after being poisoned and now some woman is drowning me in ice water after trying to amputate my toe!"

Vanessa turned the hot water on splashing it toward Joe. "Some woman, hmm? And who might that be?"

Joe abandoned his attempt at looking annoyed and broke into a wide grin, reaching for Vanessa. "Ashe blonde hair, legs a mile long… kind of looks like you, now that I think about it."

She leaned over the tub, kissing him. "Does she now? Guess I'll have to stay here and keep an eye on my man, then."

"Hmm, claimed. I think I like that." His hand twisted in Vanessa's hair, pulling her closer, while his other hand slid to her back. Chuckling softly, he pulled her in to the tub, his far leg wrapping around hers. "Nessa…" Kiss. "I…" Kiss. "Love…" Kiss. "You."

The kisses won out then, the water somehow turned off at mid chest and Vanessa's now see through white shirt unbuttoned and off her shoulders. Joe nuzzled kisses along her neck and collarbone, his hands increasingly urgent.

Vanessa gasped, the warm water swirling around the pair in an intimate dance as she alternately nipped at his ear and arched her spine to embrace his most tender touches. "God, Joe. I want to…"

"Shh." His mouth captured hers again, breathless, fingers trailing over a bare shoulder before he somehow rolled them within the tub, strong back looming over the water as he supported his weight on one arm, the other cradling her head. He stopped, panting.

Very carefully, with utmost reluctance, he backed away. "Nessa?"

"Joe?" Her breath came in little huffs of its own, her chest heaving in the lavender lace bra. When had the shirt disappeared? For that matter when had her jeans become unbuttoned?

"Ness, I, um… I can't do this." Joe looked at the beautiful woman before him, as eager as she was.

She gazed at him, bemused. "What? Make love to me?"

"Oh no, that I can definitely do." He took a shuddering breath. "We had decided not to. You changing your mind?"

Vanessa breathed silently for a long moment, finally shaking her head. "We made the right decision before."

"Then I can't do _this_." His hands spread out to take in the entire bathroom. "I can't keep playing with fire."

"We did make the right decision for us, Joe." Vanessa rose from the water, dripping, before letting out a wry smile. "I never thought I'd play the temptress."

"You are always my temptress, Nessa. Every time I see you, it's everything I can do to remember to breathe. You are so beautiful, inside and out, and I want to make the rest of my life about you. Everything you need, everything you want, it's the most important thing I can ever do." Joe's deep blue eyes gazed into her grey ones, seeing perfection. "The part of me that's a man wants to finish what I just started. The part of me that's your man, wants to be absolutely sure you're ready."

Nessa sat on the ivory wicker stool, returning the stare for several heartbeats before dropping her gaze to her feet. "And I'm not. Or rather I am, I want you with every inch of my soul, but it means something to me to wait until our wedding day."

"Then we wait." Joe's voice was husky, filled with resignation and longing. "I'll, ah, be right out."

"Ok. I love you. Joe."

"And I love you, Nessa." As soon as the door closed, he stood under the shower, letting the ice-cold water flow over him again.

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"Where does everything stand?" Joe looked from his parents to Con Riley, trying to piece together the previous few days.

His mother reviewed what she recalled of the cookie making, Joe's visit, the mysterious letter, and her subsequent trip up the stairs, feeling increasingly dizzy.

Joe's own recollection wasn't particularly different, including the tidbit about stopping outside to lean on his car before barely making it into his own apartment.

Vanessa and Mr. Hardy picked up the narrative from there, recalling both finding the pair at their respective houses and how each had awakened in the hospital, although Joe's story was certainly more unique in that regard.

Fenton nodded thoughtfully, fingers working through the brunette hair. "So, what doesn't fit?"

"The first letter." Joe searched through his memory, addressing each item in order as if he hadn't been the primary victim. "Mom, you said Dad mentioned to you that it was poisoned when you woke up, right?"

Laura poured everyone a glass of tea and sat back down. "That's right. Fenton said the preliminary test results had already come back from Sam."

"Where'd it come from? I took it home with me, intending to take it to the office in the morning. Obviously, that never happened. Vanessa, did you find it, or Chet? No, that can't be it, if either of you had touched it, we'd have even more of a mess." Joe looked between his father and Con.

"No, son, I found it here, in the kitchen." Fenton held his son's stare. "You're certain you took it home?"

"Positive."

"So, someone else returned it here; most likely the poisoner." Fenton sighed. "Did you turn the alarm on after Joe left, Laura?"

"Yes, I'm certain."

Fenton nodded again. "What else?"

"At the hospital, the, ah, arrangement of items when I woke up." Joe tapped his thumb against the table, thinking. "I think we're looking for two people."

Con interrupted, surprised. "How so? There's no physical evidence for that."

A choked chuckle followed. "There's no physical evidence of much of anything, Con. If I hadn't been soundly sleeping off a knock on the head, I'd say I did it. But think about it… the setting is very precise, down to the same shade of red lipstick that Vanessa wears on the cup and my cheek, pouring me a coffee to reference the prior note, asking about Frank, even the way Vanessa was bound with embroidery supplies. It's all created to provoke a sort of gamesmanship or challenge. That's not what I was guaranteed to notice, though. As soon as woke up, the first thing that drew my eye was Vanessa, bleeding out." Joe found himself unconsciously reaching for his fiancée.

"The blood was fake…" Con tried to sort that out from the remaining scene.

"Yes," Joe agreed, "but there was no way to know that at first. Why set such a carefully crafted scene, then ruin it? You wouldn't… unless someone came behind you and made unplanned additions."

"I tend to concur." Fenton chewed his lower lip. "We're searching for someone, or someones, then with an intense interest in you and Frank, female most likely, with the skillset to bypass our alarm, and an odd sense of humor."

Joe shook his head. "All of that, true, but I think we can narrow it a little further. The embroidery supplies… I'm assuming you or Frank didn't share that little airport story with anyone?"

Fenton shook his head. "I didn't, and I doubt your brother did."

"And I didn't either." Joe shot an I'll explain later look at Vanessa. "But I did include it in my report to the Agency we were working for."

"An agent?" Laura spit out the unpalatable idea, while a glance went between Joe and his father. _A Network Agent._

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There was no air, no sound, no light. His fingers scraped at the soil, desperate for the surface, scrabbling. He ignored the crushing weight on his chest, the tiny rivulets of earth wandering into his nose, the debris invading his mouth. He twisted his hand to the left, then the right, painstakingly edging the dirt away. Grinding it into the raw skin at his wrist, ignoring the blood seeping down the remnants of flesh over bone. Ignoring the forlorn aching in his ever-abused shoulder.

There was no sound, no light. The hole around his hand enlarged, letting the first tendrils of air to sneak into the coffin of mud. He began to cough, the spasms dislodging their own miniature torrent. No matter. His ruined fingertips sought purchase, the torn nailbeds jabbing over twigs and rocks until finally catching against a section of tree trunk. Horizontal, destroyed, but heavily providing anchor. He grabbed onto it, levering his free hand until it grew into a free arm, twining around the log. Slowly, one inch at a time, he yanked his way upward, ignoring the agonizing pressure on his legs, ignoring the tearing of muscle and sinew, intent on clawing his way into the living world. His memory throbbed with the recollection of tumbling earth, the separation from his partner, and the one sound he hadn't been able to place at the onset. Before the trees toppled. Before the mountain rolled over to bury him. The one sound that had awakened him, holding forth for half a second before the cacophony. The distinctive sound of a chain of explosive firing in rapid succession.

No, there was no light. Even the meager stars had hidden themselves from this fury. But breached up upon the damp earth there was a reborn Frank Hardy. And he was pissed.

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To be continued:


	11. Chapter 11

Asunder 11

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Special thanks to BMSH, ErinJordan, Caranath, max2013, lucy62, sm2003495, and julzdagger88. As always, reviews mean a lot to me, but I feel like I'm getting my grove back just a little bit now. The first chapter of this was written almost two years ago, without an outline for the rest – and then I had a serious stroke out of the blue. No high blood pressure, no diabetes, just a case of meningitis and then a stroke in a matter of two weeks that then took a year's worth of rehab. And then came six months to figure out if I could still write. I'm still figuring it out to be honest, but throughout this story I'm starting to get a knack back for expressing what's going on in my head. Now whether that's good or bad, lol, is another issue…

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"I. Don't. Know." Joe let out an exhausted huff and flopped backwards on his couch, one arm falling across his eyes. "I am so flippin' tired. I need more coffee."

Vanessa contemplated bringing up the fact that it was two o'clock in the morning and anybody with any sense wouldn't be trying to _know_ anything. Now probably wasn't the time, for either knowing anything or for anybody with sense, depending on how you looked at it. She got up, her hand brushing over her fiancée's knee as she passed. "I'll get it."

Joe sat up as she returned, accepting the steaming cup and downing a few swallows. "Ugh, too hot." He returned to the laptop, edging through mounds of case notes.

Ness smiled a little. "You're supposed to wait a minute before you drink it, love."

"Yeah, I know." Joe muttered, distracted. "I'm trying to figure out anyone in the Network that I ever drank a cup with. Unfortunately, all I'm finding is that I drink way too much coffee."

"There was never any doubt about that, hon." Vanessa tipped her head sideways, casting an inquiring look. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but I don't know exactly what this Network is."

Joe rubbed both fists across his eyeballs. "Nobody does, aside from the standard 'government agency' answer. Actually, there aren't that many folks that could come up with that much."

Vanessa smiled. "And what? You slipped up and spit the word out? I doubt that."

"As you should." Joe reached out an arm, pulling her in for a hug. "I'll tell you about the Network at some point, what I know anyway; right now, I'm too bloody sleepy. I've realized I don't want this to be a secret between us."

"Is this what Frank is doing? What your uncle does?" Vanessa frowned.

Joe shook his head, before downing a bit more coffee. "No, but we've both worked for them on occasion… when it was clearly the lesser of two evils… wait! Nessa, that's it!"

"That's what!?"

Rapid typing precluded an answer. "Lesser of two evils… What was her name?... I should know this… can't believe I can't remember… come on… didn't have a cup of coffee, must have had four gallons… that babysitter comment… sitting right there the whole time…"

Finally, the muttering stopped and one case file remained on the screen.

Ellen.

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Third sun up. Or was it the fourth? Hard to tell. Frank sat up, slowly, stretching out each limb. Still sore, but functional… mostly. That was charitable for the right arm, more accurately labelled as shredded but not broken. Probably. He shrugged. It didn't matter.

More water. It was simple as plans went, but it worked as the main focus for the day. The trickling spring he'd found had kept him alive the last few days, but nothing more. He'd sought out Karena with what little strength he had, crawling amongst the distressed earth, before crumbling back to nurse his injuries… and his anger. This island would not be his final resting place, especially not courtesy of Nicholas Shuman. It would not. That simple.

There was something… else… here. Half remembered, if that much. During the day, he foraged, settling on a dismal tiny cave as home base, ferreting away a selection of berries, constructing traps for unsuspecting game, beginning a program of carefully considered thievery. At night, however, he dreamed.

.

 _A nod from Clipboard resulted in Frank's hands being yanked up another notch, a maneuver that required three men to achieve and stole the air from his taut body. An audible pop sounded as the abused right shoulder slid from its socket, eliciting the scream Frank had so hopelessly tried to squelch._

" _I see it in your eyes, Frank. You cannot do this much longer. Giving in benefits both of us. I receive the information I need to try Joe; you receive your life. Joseph benefits as well."_

 _Hurts…no, ignore him…liar… don't ask…_ _"H-helps Joe? How?"_

" _If I can convict Joseph based on what you tell me, then he need never spend any time in this room. I promise you Rao will never touch him. Now talk."_

 _He doesn't have Joe…_

 _Spin a load of bull and I'll… live… and … and… betray Joe…_

" _Last opportunity, Mr. Hardy."_

 _An opportunity…stop, please… to buy my life… by betraying my brother…_

 _Frank desperately gathered the swimming thoughts in his brain to utter a final word, sealing his fate. "NO."_

 _The silence stretched, Clipboard's face working through rose and crimson before settling into the first stages of violet. "Fool boy! Fine." He pivoted on a heel and reached the chamber door before he spoke to Rao._

 _The gargantuan man lurked behind the bloodied form stretched in the frame, the pole in his hand thumping a staccato rhythm on the floor. "Still eager, Rao? Very well, do as you please. Just be certain he remains alive for the gallows in the morning."_

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Frank awoke with a gasp. A dozen daybreaks now, and still the horrific dream always ended there. He could painfully remember the following morning, of course, often when he desperately tried to avoid it…

.

 _Sometime long after dark, Rao had cut him from the beam frame, dragging the crumpled form to the foot of the gallows alongside the compound's east wall. He'd lashed Frank's wrists together and then staked them to the ground, leaving him prone to wait out the night._

 _An hour or so ago, Frank had become vaguely aware of other men dumped along the stone barrier, his mind sporadically participating in his impending execution. Now that the sky bore the first hints of indigo, it wouldn't be long._

 _._

There were hours between the two dregs of nightmare, one waking, one not. He'd known that for years. He'd even scoured his memory for it at the start, always ending with a pit of dread opening a gulf in his soul, terrified for himself and more so for Joe. Eventually, he done the only logical thing. The only option that maintained his sanity. Sealed it in a box and never spoke of it again. Never allowed it to send even a tendril to the surface. Now though, now…

Now the terror was still there, struggling to be heard, but it was being drowned out by a tide of rage.

A more introspective Frank, the one that had lived most of the last twenty six odd years, would have wondered why. Yes, he was on Ranei, and he wasn't precisely filled with fond remembrance. Yes, he was after an agent that had a personal tie to his family, even to his mother. Yes, his partner, pain that she often was, was unaccounted for. And yes, he was back outside this God-forsaken fortress. Apprehension would have been perfectly reasonable, perhaps even fear, but not this overwhelming anger.

This version of Frank, however, wasn't pondering any of that. This version of him was stoking his anger, reigning it into focus, preparing. He could feel it. Something was coming.

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Shuman smiled, chuckling to himself. "So, particular plans, mon Capitan?"

"Oh, I do not know, Nicholas." The elderly man grinned, gazing at the mud-covered figure before him, before launching a kick into the vulnerable stomach. "It seems to have been roughing it a while in our forest. I might let it spend a night or two with us here, before I decide. I do tend to find house guests to be most entertaining."

"Excellent thought." Shuman yanked at the end of a chain from the charred remnant of the wall and snapped it around the filth streaked wrist. "Nighty-night, my friend."

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"Joe?"

"Hey Dad." Joe led Vanessa into the house on Elm, settling on the striped sofa. "I know who sent the note."

Fenton closed the door to his study and went to sit with the pair, noting they both appeared exhausted. "Who?"

"Ellen. Elias Dahl's assistant."

"You sure?" Fenton nodded, unconsciously agreeing even as he asked.

"I don't have any proof, if that's what you're asking, but yeah. Nessa and I were going through case notes all night. She fits."

"She won't be easy to track." Fenton leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

"I'm suspecting she'll do the tracking." Joe caught Vanessa's hand in his, giving it a squeeze. "It's weird that she's back now, though. Assuming she did get involved with Nicholas Shuman from the start, or even left the so-called straight and narrow of the Network later, why target me now? It's been eight years."

Fenton tapped his fingers against his lip, thinking. "The start. I think we need to talk to Joseph."

Vanessa looked surprised, but Joe just nodded. "Not Gray, then."

"No."

"Ok. No such thing as coincidences, huh Dad?" Joe smiled, a tight expression that ignored his teeth, before grabbing his phone.

"Joe Hardy, in Bayport." "His nephew." "Yes, I'll hold." "No, Bayport. B-A-Y-P-O-R-T." An exaggerated eyeroll followed. "Joe. You know, like the same as his name." "Sure, still holding."

"No, no, no… Not muzak. You ever hear 'Come on Feel the Noize' played by a string quartet? It's like Lawrence Welk met the Andrews Sisters and they all decided to get stoned." Joe kept a steady sarcastic stream of chatter under his breath. "Oh, great, now it's a Pearl Jam medley on the harp and marimba. Awesome…"

"No, sorry, you're not awesome… well you might be, I suppose… Anyways, talking to myself. I'm here… Yes, I'll continue to hold." The eyeroll made a second appearance.

"Hi, Uncle Joseph. It's Joe."

"Yeah, sorry, was talking to myself." Joe managed a slightly embarrassed look.

"Look, we've had a bit of a problem here… No, everyone's fine…"

"Poisoning actually."

"Mom and me."

"No, hey, she's fine, really."

"No, she's volunteering down at the Children's Home this morning."

"Fine. Yeah, me too."

"The thing is, it appears to be linked to the Network."

"No, Dad and I have that part under control."

Joe got up and started to walk. "Yeah, he's here."

Fenton started to reach for the phone, but Joe batted his hand away.

"We think it's someone tied in to Frank, too."

"What? Why?"

The walk became an agitated pace. "Where is he?"

"Uncle Joseph, I _need_ to know. Where is he?"

"How long?"

Joe blanched.

" _How long_?"

Fenton and Vanessa were both animatedly gesturing now, but both were ignored.

"Oh, God…"

The phone tumbled to the floor.

Vanessa found her voice first. "Joe? Honey?"

"We, ah, I… I have to run to my house… for a minute… and then the office…" Joe's face was pale, but plans were running amok behind his eyes. "Dad, if you can scout out Ellen from here…"

The land line began to ring, chiming in with an urgency that was ignored.

"Joe, what's going on?" Fenton demanded an explanation.

"I, ah, I don't know." He shot a hard look at his father before pulling Vanessa in for a desperate kiss and whispered promise. "Take of Nessa for me. I have to go."

"Go?" Vanessa's voice trembled. "Joe… where?"

He paused two steps before the door, closed his eyes and let out a long breath. When the blue eyes snapped open, they were filled with determination and pain.

"Ranei."

To be continued:


	12. Chapter 12

Asunder 12

 _My thanks to everyone reading and reviewing, especially Caranath, lucy62, sm2003495, BMSH, ErinJordan, max2013, Cherylann, Candylou, and julzdagger88. And also my apologies for the delay. I stopped my regular job, which overall will give me more time to write, but kept my volunteer practice, which I had been absent from for a year and half for health reasons. I finally cleared my physical to travel again (which was very difficult post stroke, but also extremely exciting) and ended up on a four week trip – to someplace with no internet access. Anyhow, I'm back, I'm exhausted, but I did write when possible while I was gone, so a lot of this is now in the can. Hopefully I can post more!_

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"I don't know what to say, sir. It isn't here." The soldier held out both palms in an empty gesture, nervously staring at his feet.

"And where do you suppose it is, grunt?" Each word was clipped, dripping more menace than a missing chicken should engender.

"It was here… right here roasting… and I went to get the vegetables… and then… it was… gone." The younger man was visibly shaking. "Someone must have… must have taken it. I don't have another explanation. Sir."

The pause lasted long enough for the pulse to become visible in Yuda's neck while his superior calculated. Finally, the larger man grabbed him by the collar.

"So, this half roasted, completely plucked, deceased chicken took flight and mysteriously flew away?"

"I, ah, couldn't speak to that, sir… it's just gone…" Yuda struggled to swallow against the fabric at his throat.

"Let me try this again, grunt. Either, as you say, someone in this unit stole the meat for the commander's table… perhaps even you… or the dead chicken flew away. Now I can spend the next day flaying the skin off of you all one at a time until someone confesses, or you can go outside and search for our miraculous resurrected fowl. Which is it going to be?" He released the shirt collar, flinging his underling to the ground.

Yuda gulped the suddenly available air, forcing his brain to function. Obviously, the chicken had been swiped, but something about his superior's tone suggested a forthcoming horror of watching his friends die over a simple dinner as new-found entertainment. A non-decision, then, even if it did lead to exile. "Perhaps it did fly away, sir. I'll go, ah, look."

A malicious grin followed. "Excellent idea."

A half hour later, Yuda found himself evicted from the remnant walls of the fortress he'd been brought to as a child, facing the unknown. Certainly, he wasn't tossed out amongst the never-ending foliage and mud to find a deceased chicken. No, he was here to provide perverse theater, stumbling about the rocks and newer rubble without even the benefit of a measly pair of boots.

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"Joe!"

Joe turned around, unconsciously tugging the duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder. He didn't need this, or at least not right now. "Dad, look, I'm not overflowing with happiness about this whole deal either, but I have to go…"

Fenton flashed a tight grin, gazing around the private plane terminal. "No, Joe, I…"

"Dad, cut me a break here… it's Frank…" Joe interrupted any further attempts to halt his progress.

Exasperated, Fenton grabbed his son's arm and pulled him to a stop. Silently, he hefted another duffle.

Joe shook his head, mouth slightly agape. "Thought you were here to stop me."

"When has that ever, ever worked?" The senior detective paused, fingers raking through brown hair. "He's my son. Of course I'm going."

Joe stared a long moment. "Dad… Frank is… different… I, ah… Never mind. But thank you. Plane's waiting."

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Fenton sagged into a chair, willing the urge to sleep away. Jakarta was as humid and rainy as ever, and the three hour layover in Qatar may have been drier, but otherwise hadn't helped anything. There was surely a more comfortable time of year to visit here, he just hadn't found it yet. Maybe late summer. Definitely not January. Spreading out the sheaf of notes he had written on the flight, he grabbed a pen, idling underscoring a few items.

Joe joined him in the opposite chair, slurping a cup of coffee.

"Bit late in the day for that, isn't it?" Fenton cringed, but saved the table manners lecture for another day. He found himself checking his watch to ensure he'd reset it after the twenty-seven hours of travel and pondering some late night java of his own. Slurped or not.

"I guess. Not sure I can even tell what time it is at this point." Joe ran his palm over his forehead before pulling a map of Ranei up on his laptop. "Wish I knew where to start."

His father got up to peer over his shoulder. "Looks like you've already decided."

"More of a feeling, I guess." Joe tapped the old fortress with his index finger. "It's where he was going."

"We don't know that they made it that far… and it's been three weeks. They could have travelled a good bit since then, even on foot."

Joe dropped his head into his hands, keeping the last bit of information to himself a few precious minutes longer. His father finally dropped a hand on his shoulder.

"Joe?"

He entered a few commands on the computer, pulling up a satellite image of the crumbled exterior wall and churned mess of mud, broken trees, and rubble.

"Hoouuff." The low-pitched noise rumbled out before Fenton could stop it. "How long ago?"

Joe stood up, abruptly beginning to pace. "About three weeks."

"Joe… that doesn't necessarily mean anything. You know that." Fenton watched his younger child wander the room.

"I do know that. I also know that ignoring the most obvious answer because I don't like it isn't exactly in the detectives how to handbook." Joe walked to the rattan bordered window, looking out at the dense manicured bamboo surrounding a deep azure pool currently puckered with rain. A mockery of the jungle he needed to search. "I need to start there."

Fenton nodded, a silent capitulation. "Joseph would have started there, too."

"And found Frank if he was there. I know that, too." Joe continued to stare at the rain. "There are about another hundred sat photos on there where he tried to do just that."

"Then we begin with those… in the morning." Fenton walked toward the bathroom, stopping to turn back toward his younger child. "Get some sleep, Joe. We'll work better for it."

"Yeah." One hand rubbed at the blond stubble over his jaw. "You're right. You go first, I'll call Nessa and tell her we got here."

He waited on the shower to start in the other room and dialed his fiancée, sighing when it went straight to voice mail. "Ness, it's me. We got here fine, checked into the hotel no problem. Dad and I are going to get some sleep and start in on this in the morning. Not really sure when I'll be able to call back… anyway, I love you. Be safe. I'll be home as soon as I can."

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"Awwh. He sounds so sweet, doesn't he? Almost makes you want to marry the guy. Oh, that's right, you already agreed to that." Ellen swung her brunette hair over a shoulder, smiling. "Personally, I would have answered the phone if it was me, though."

Vanessa glowered at her from the hardbacked kitchen chair, but said nothing.

"Not a word?" Ellen faked a pout a moment before returning to her bright smile. "I remember Joe as being quite the conversationalist. He must hate all this dreary quiet. Now let's just take a look a see where he's off to."

Vanessa half rose from the chair before her uninvited house guest gestured at her with the handgun that had been omnipresent since her arrival.

"Tsk tsk. Now don't do anything silly." Ellen retrieved the phone, finding the number where Joe's call originated. "Humph, he's gone back to Jakarta. Can't say I've been there in a coon's age."

She circled Vanessa, thinking. "Obviously, I'm headed back overseas for the moment. Now what to do with you?"

"Overseas? Leave Joe alone!" Vanessa tightened her hands on the seat of the chair, willing herself to stay seated. She didn't need another reminder from Ellen's firearm.

"So you do talk! Sadly, I'm afraid we're nearing the end of my visit." She aimed the gun from ten feet away, an impossible shot to miss… and then did nothing, finally breaking into a chuckle. "I won't shoot you, this time anyway. Shame Joe's not here to kiss again. That _was_ fun."

"What are you doing?" The question slipped out before Vanessa could stop it.

Ellen continued to root through her purse one handed, eventually withdrawing a syringe. "Making sure you have a nice nap, of course. I have to go find that fiancée of yours and I suspect you'd try to stop me. You haven't bought a dress yet, have you? Guess it really doesn't matter; you're cute, you'll find somebody else. Kind of a bummer for Joe, though."

Vanessa paled. "No, I… please?"

The gun jerked toward the sofa in the other room. "Shh, there, even I can't figure out what you're asking. Go on. No reason to be so upset."

"You'll never catch up with Joe. Never!" Vanessa shakily made her way to the couch, putting more surety behind her words than she felt.

"Oh, but I will. I thought I was shuffled off to the minor leagues here, but it seems your fiancée just got called up to the majors. Lovely for the both of us, truly. Now take that sweater off, lay down, and put your arm out."

"What?" Ness gave her an indignant look.

Ellen fired a shot into the cushion two inches from the tall blonde. "Now."

Vanessa blew out a deep breath, then yanked the royal blue sweater over her head and sank onto the sofa, stiff as a board.

A second later and it was done, the syringe emptying easily into her elbow. Ellen stood back and watched as Vanessa progressively lost her battle to stay awake, humming a childhood lullaby.

Once she was certain Nessa no longer had the capability of escape, Ellen returned to her purse. She selected the same shade of lipstick she'd had before and glossed it over her lips, then chose an antique coffee cup from the cupboard. She walked back to Vanessa, pouring some of the morning's leftover brew. She took a sip, grimacing at the cool temperature, and set the cup down.

"Ah well. It works for the print." She knelt beside the couch, smoothing strands of the golden hair from the now sweaty face. When she spoke again it was nearly a whisper. "You know, Vanessa, I would be so angry right about now. I mean Joe still makes my motor run, maybe more than when he was jailbait at seventeen, but he definitely knew there was collateral damage in my little game. Still, he dropped you like yesterday's news and went off after that brother of his. Shows you where you stand, doesn't it? Maybe he just prefers brunettes."

The grey eyes flickered open. "N-nn-not tr-true."

"Oh, but I think it is." She leaned over and kissed Vanessa on the cheek, leaving another lipstick mark. Laughing, she took a photo. "And what I think is all that counts."

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"NO!"

Frank jerked awake, eyes darting in the dark for a terrified moment while he begged his heartbeat to slow. _Crud. Not again_. He drew in tremulous breaths, attempting to force a return to the calm of his enclosed cave.

In. _Damp soil beneath his spine._

Out. _Sweat on his forehead, trickling down through the hair at his temples._

In. _Left fingertips grinding into the earth beside his hip._

Out. _Toes tensed into coiled knots within soaked boots._

In. _Quivering thighs shoving against the immobile cave wall._

Out. _The hilt of a knife grasped tight in his right fist._

In. _Just a nightmare._

Out. _Let go._

In. _Breathe. Feel what's actually here._

Out. _Breathe. Better. Let the dream go._

In. _Breathe._

Out. _Breathe._

Slowly he sat up, flinging aside the knife. The only monsters here were in his memory.

In.

Out.

In. _Don't._

Out. _Remember._

In.

Out.

In. _Breathe._

Out. _Breathe_.

In. _It wasn't._

Out. _Between the halves of nightmare._

In. _It wasn't._

Out. _He wasn't there._

In. _It wasn't._

Out. _But I always knew that._

In. _It wasn't._

Out. _How could I have thought he was?_

In _. It wasn't._

Out… _Damn. It wasn't Joe. It was me._

 _It was me._

 _It was always me._

 _Rao he… white not blue… It wasn't Joe._

 _It was me._

 _Blue shorts in the weeds._

 _It was always me._

 _Not white._

 _Relief and revulsion, warring._

 _Should have been white._

 _Relief. It wasn't Joe. He was never there._

 _Revulsion. It was always me._

 _Revulsion. It was me._

 _Revulsion._

 _Revulsion_

… _and regret_

… _and absolute horror_

… _and heartbreak_

Finally, the disjointed torrent dissolved into choked sobs, welling up through eight years. His knees met his chest; Frank's arms encompassing his coiled form as he rocked… and wept.

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To be continued:


End file.
